“I’m okay,” I said again with a nod. “Hey, Pop, can I ask you a question if you have a minute?”
“Sure.” He turned to Charlotte and said, “Those pups are going out on their walk now.”
“I saw Teddy come down with one already,” Charlotte answered. She perked up when a customer walked into the shop and excused herself to hurry over.
Pop turned back to me. “You could have just called, kiddo.”
I shrugged, moved toward a side counter, and flipped through a binder of adoptable animals. “Dad, do you know a lot about Poe’s ‘Tamerlane’?”
“Yeah, what did you want to know?”
“He released that and some other poems in a book and called itTamerlane, didn’t he?” I asked.
“It was Poe’s first publication.”
“That’s right,” I agreed, the old information slowly coming back to memory.
“It wasn’t credited to him, though. Only,a Bostonian.”
I had been considering my next question on the subway ride over. Maybe we—that being, the police and myself—didn’t knowwhowould kill and assault several people on behalf ofTamerlane, so perhaps we should focus onwhyand follow those clues.
I knew this case was becoming high profile within the NYPD, and everything Calvin did was scrutinized. And he was overworked and stressed. Quinn had said so herself. So it wouldn’t hurt for me to look into what I felt wasn’t being given ample consideration, right? Fuck it. I was helping.
Why would someone kill for this book?
Value.
Literary and historical value—sure, it had that—but I’ve read about people who have killed for twenty bucks. It’s always about money.
“Pop, do you know if the book is worth a lot?”
He smiled and patted Maggie’s head. “You’re the antique dealer, Sebastian.”
“And you know more about Poe,” I answered while shutting the adoption folder.
“It’s worth a lot,” he agreed, nodding. “There are only twelve copies known to exist. It’s one of the rarest first editions to be had when it comes to American literature.”
“How much is it worth?”
“I don’t know, but a lot I bet.”
“Where are the twelve copies these days?”
Pop looked thoughtful for a moment. “I know some are privately owned. Oh, the New York Public Library has one in their rare books vault.”
“What, really? Can the public view it?” I asked quickly.
My dad cocked his head to the side. “What’s with the twenty questions, Sebastian?”
“It’s—”
“Nothing?” he finished for me. He shook his head and checked his watch. “Want to get some brunch?”
WE LEFTMaggie at the shelter and hopped over to a little restaurant across the street. He sipped at a glass of orange juice, and I ordered an Irish coffee.
“Whiskey before eleven?” my dad asked curiously.
“It’s the least I can do for myself.” I took a drink of the whipped cream and spiked coffee.
