They went inside, and not only did the place appear to have been in business as a tavern for more than a hundred years, Joe wasn’t sure it had been cleaned in all that time, either. But answering the question Gen had asked, there was a sign above the bar that read: Edgar Allan Poe drank here. Imbibe and find your inner genius.
Those words were followed by a hand-painted addendum that said: At least, we think he drank here.
“Just like Washington,” Genevieve said.
“How?”
“He slept everywhere, and Poe drank everywhere.”
Their waitress, a gum-cracking woman of about fifty, offered them a tired smile. “What’ll it be?”
“What’s good here?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she told him honestly.
“A Coke—in a bottle—then,” Joe told her. “Gen?”
She opted for the same, and then the woman smiled and told them that the home-style meatloaf and mashed potatoes were actually quite tasty, so they went ahead and ordered food.
“So…” Genevieve said, when the waitress had gone.
“So?”
“What were you doing all morning?”
“Talking to the police.”
“And?”
“They don’t have any answers.”
“Do they think the Poe angle is a smoke screen?”
He tilted his head thoughtfully. “If they have any ideas right now, they’re not sharing. And I think they would if they did. I know the two lead detectives on the case, and they’re both solid guys, good at their jobs. The killer was careful and seemed to know how not to leave any clues he didn’t want to. Maybe a professional, or maybe just someone who reads or watches television and has learned how not to leave trace evidence behind. There was no forced entry, and Bigelow apparently had a visitor earlier, so it’s likely Thorne Bigelow knew his killer. But as far as the Poe connection goes, though he was killed via his beloved wine, he wasn’t walled up.”
“What about Sam Latham?”
He hesitated. “They’re looking into the accident, as well, trying to find out exactly what happened. Lots of people apparently saw the same car I did, but no one can agree on the details of what it looked like, and no one caught the license plate. Maybe a better witness will come forward in the future.”
It was inevitable that she asked him, “What about that psychic?”
And dammit, she knew him well enough to catch something in his hesitation.
“You think she does know something!” Genevieve exclaimed.
Luckily their meals arrived just then and saved him from having to answer.
But the minute their waitress moved on, Gen pounced on him again. “Well?”
He shook his head. “Who knows? I sure don’t.”
“I want to meet her.”
“She can’t know anything,” he insisted.
“But I want to meet her anyway.”
He glanced at his watch. It was already nearly six.
“Too late. We have to go pick up your mother and get to that New York Poe Society board meeting.”
“Tomorrow, then,” she told him.
He shrugged. “We can stop by and talk to her, if you like.”
“Tomorrow, definitely. And you won’t put me off. Promise me, Joe.”
“Yes, all right, I promise. You can really be a pain in the…butt, you know.”
“I work hard at it,” she assured him solemnly.
“I’m not at all sure you need to make much of an effort,” he said.
She shrugged, and silence fell between them.
“Hey,” she said softly a little while later, and smiled a little crookedly.
“What?” He’d sounded gruff and impatient. He knew it.
“The meatloaf wasn’t half bad.”
He offered her a half smile in return. “Actually, I think it was more than half good.”
When the check came, she reached for it, but he got there first.
“You agreed to take the case. We’re talking about the case…working, so I should pick this up,” she told him.
“I’ll take the check,” he said in a tone that brooked no interference.
“Chauvinist,” she accused, but her tone was light.
“Exactly,” he assured her.
“But you’re on the clock.”
“I’ll bill you, then. But I’ll still take the check.”
A few minutes later, as they waited by the register for his credit card to be returned, he noticed the large wooden plaque over the doorway. It had a giant etched raven on the right side, with just a few words of Poe’s immortal poem on the left.
Quoth the raven…
CHAPTER 6
Not everyone on the board of the venerable society was in attendance.
Thorne, of course, was dead.
Jared Bigelow, Thorne’s son, and Mary Vincenzo, his sister-in-law, were understandably absent. Because Thorne’s body had been held at the morgue, the funeral was planned for Monday, so both Jared and Mary had sent their regrets to Brook Avery, who was chairman of the board.
Sam Latham wasn’t there, either. He was still in the hospital, but even if he hadn’t been, he might not have been in the mood to attend.
Four missing. Eight in attendance, including Eileen.