“Right here?” Joe asked.
Bennet waved a hand. “Come into the kitchen. It’s my domain for the moment. I’ll put some tea on.”
“Tea sounds lovely, Bennet, thanks so much,” Genevieve said.
A few minutes later, they were seated around the huge butcher-block table in the kitchen. Bennet told them, “Mr. Bigelow’s office is still closed off. I haven’t touched a thing in it. I believe I could now, but…” His voice faded away. Joe couldn’t help but believe that the man had felt a genuine affection for his employer of so many years. “Not even young Jared has had the heart to go in there.”
Joe looked up at the rafters where copper pots and utensils were handsomely displayed. It was a great kitchen, with a big fireplace and every conceivable appliance. Then he poured a teaspoon of sugar into his cup and stirred. “So, Mr. Bennet, you said you were here when it happened?”
“Yes.”
“But you saw and heard nothing?”
“Nothing at all. My apartment is on the third floor, you see. What was once the attic, but it’s been renovated. You’re welcome to come up and see for yourself. Once you shut that door…well, a bomb could go off downstairs, and you wouldn’t know.”
Joe smiled. “I think I know what you mean.”
Bennet stirred his own tea, then shook his head, looking distressed. “I talked to the police at length. Mr. Jared, of course, was distraught, and accused me of horrible things, but he apologized later. And the detectives cleared me. Who knows, maybe they figured I just wasn’t literary enough to pull off something like this.”
“What is your position now?” Joe asked.
“Well, I imagine Mr. Thorne left me something in his will, but who knows? Jared asked that I stay on for now, while he figures out what he wants to do. We’re keeping everything the same. The maids come in each morning still. They just stay away from Mr. Bigelow’s office. And his room,” Bennet added softly. He shrugged. “It was clean when he was killed. The police went through it, of course, looking for any information he might have kept in his personal quarters, rather than his office, but they were very diligent about putting things back as they were, and there’s been no reason for anyone to go back in and clean as yet.”
“How and when did you know something had happened?” Joe asked him.
“I heard Jared screaming.”
“But you said you couldn’t have heard a bomb go off,” Joe said lightly.
Bennet had the grace to offer a rueful smile. “You never heard anything like the way Mr. Jared was screaming when he found his father.”
“So the two got along?”
“Argued like cats and dogs—but they lived for it,” Bennet said. He leaned a little closer to speak more softly, as if they were surrounded by others and might be heard. “I think it was one of those other fellows. Jealous. Those men are fanatics. I mean, take the actor fellow. Don Tracy. He thinks he’s Lawrence Olivier! He and Mr. Bigelow fought all the time whenever they had those Poe meetings here. To be truthful, I think Mr. Bigelow would have loved to be on the stage himself. Half the time, I think he was acting. Or trying to aggravate Mr. Tracy.”
“Mr. Bennet, when was the last time you saw Mr. Bigelow?” Joe asked.
Bennet looked at him oddly. “Well, before the ambulance took him away, of course.”
“I meant, when was the last time you saw him alive?”
“When I picked up his lunch tray that afternoon.”
“And what time was that?”
“Let’s see…I brought lunch up to him around one, and I picked up the tray at about one-thirty.”
“And no one was here until Jared arrived?” Joe asked, knowing the answer but wondering what Bennet would tell him.
“No, no. He was expecting a guest, but he didn’t tell me who it was, and he said I shouldn’t worry, that he’d answer the door himself.”
Good enough, Joe thought. That fit with what the detectives had said.
“And what time did Jared start screaming?” Joe asked. He had the notes on the initial investigation that Raif Green had passed on to him, but it was always interesting to see if the eye witnesses’ memories stayed the same.
“I’d say it was about six-thirty. Somewhere around there. I didn’t actually look at the clock.”
“Someone dialed 9-1-1 immediately, right?” Joe asked.
“Of course,” Bennet said.
“Was it you?”
“No. In fact, when I started running downstairs, I could already hear a siren.”
“That’s amazing,” Genevieve said.
Yes, it was, Joe thought.
“But Mr. Bigelow was already gone?” Joe prompted.
“Stone cold, poor Thorny was stone cold,” Bennet said.
“Stone cold?” Joe repeated curiously.
“Well, cold to the touch,” Bennet said. “There was so much confusion, though. Jared was trying to resuscitate his father, and Mary, his aunt, just kept saying he had to stop, that Mr. Bigelow was dead.”