“She discovered the body?” Brent asked.
Wilkins nodded. “Yes. She went down to the basement looking for him and found him in the wine cellar. She tried to revive him, so he’d been moved when the paramedics, and then my partner at that time, Sharon Autry, and I arrived. We’re pretty sure it was done by a friend of the family or someone smart enough to wear gloves, because we didn’t find any fingerprints that didn’t belong there. We talked to every single family friend, and everyone had an airtight alibi for when the murder occurred. We just ran out of clues and leads. Mrs. Morton still calls, and I tell her that I’ll never really close the case while I’m alive, but…” He lifted his hand. “Crime goes on.”
“What about any local Poe enthusiasts?” Joe asked. “There must be some kind of Poe society here, with this being where Poe grew up.”
“You bet. And yes, we covered that angle, too. All our ‘Poe people’ were thoroughly checked out,” Wilkins told them. “Thoroughly,” he repeated for emphasis.
“How about a Poe researcher who was visiting from somewhere else?”
“I can make some calls for you today, find out if any of those folks remember anyone else being in town. But, you know, anyone’s free to come here to research Poe without having to check in anywhere,” Wilkins pointed out.
“We appreciate you seeing what you can find out. We’re afraid we may have a serial killer on our hands who started off slowly but is building up speed,” Joe said.
“Will do,” Wilkins promised, then looked at Brent. “So you’re off to see Nancy Morton, I hear.”
“Yes, how did you know?” Brent asked him.
“She called me,” Wilkins said. “She wanted me to know you were coming, in case maybe you can find an answer to things I couldn’t.”
“You okay with that?” Brent asked.
“Absolutely,” Wilkins said easily. “I don’t give a damn how things are solved, as long as the bad guys are stopped. Well, you know, so long as no one has to do anything too illegal.”
Joe was certain that that too had been thrown in not just as a figure of speech, but with purpose.
A little while later, they all shook hands, and Wilkins headed back to the station. Back in the car, Brent directed while Joe drove, and in a little while they were on the outskirts of the city, where the houses became estates, and where neighbors could go months without seeing one another.
At last they drove up a long driveway to a porticoed house. It was new, but had the look of an old southern mansion. A maid in a cheery, flowered apron answered the door and led them in. Nancy Morton was waiting for them in the parlor, tea service at the ready on a silver tray. She was a slim woman of at least sixty. She looked younger, but had the slightly pinched look that came from plastic surgery, though it had been done well. Her hair was tinted an ash blond and was elegantly coifed.
She greeted Brent with a wide smile and rose up on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his cheek. Then she offered a hand to Joe.
“I’m Joe Connolly, Mrs. Morton,” he said.
“Nancy, please,” she said. “Why don’t you two sit down? I’ll tell you everything I can, but I’m afraid it’s not much.”
They accepted tea, despite the fact that they’d just had coffee. It seemed to be important to Nancy Morton that she provide them with something.
“This is a beautiful house,” Joe commented, taking his cup.
“Thank you. William designed it,” Nancy said, and sighed. “We never had children. We didn’t plan it that way, but we…we just never had them. But we were very lucky. We had a good marriage, got along well, enjoyed the same things. Gardens, literature, music.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Joe said quietly.
She smiled and absently touched the pearl necklace she wore. “Thank you. He was a good man.” She smiled wistfully. “Detective Wilkins is very sweet. I know he thinks I should move, but…this is my home. I still feel close to William here.”
“We’re sorry to dredge all this up again, Nancy,” Brent said.
“Don’t be. I don’t mind. Especially if anything I say can help.”