He produced several pictures he had found online and printed out. “These were taken during the festivities.”
One shot was of a man giving a lecture, and he was dressed like Poe.
Another was of a group at what appeared to be a garden tea party. The women wore period gowns, and several of the men were dressed like Poe.
“Kind of like trying to find a clown at a circus,” Nikki said.
“It had to be Jared,” Joe said. “Because Thorne is dead, and Mary Vincenzo couldn’t have carried it off—not alone, anyway. What we need now is proof.”
“We’re looking at a dozen would-be Poes here,” Brent said.
“Would-be Poes? What does that have to do with it?” Joe asked.
Gen cleared her throat. “The killer dresses up like Poe.”
“And how do you know that?” Joe demanded. He seemed tense. “How do you know?”
Genevieve braced herself, lifted her chin and met his eyes squarely. “William Morton told us. This afternoon, at the cemetery. And…” she paused, wincing “…Leslie and Matt talked to Lori, and she said the same thing, that her killer was dressed up like Poe.”
Joe rose. She was sure he was about to tell them that they were all crazy, but he didn’t. He just ran his fingers through his hair and asked, “Do you know what would happen if I were to call Raif Green and tell him that a ghost told me we’re looking for a killer who dresses up like Edgar Allan Poe?” he asked.
“There might be another way to make the suggestion,” Adam said.
Brent leaned forward. “Joe, we all know that the rest of the world doesn’t see what we do. But you learn not to talk about what’s obvious to you to other people. You go around it. You call the cops, and you leave an anonymous tip that someone might have dressed up like Poe to kill Lori. Then someone starts checking the costume shops.”
Adam leaned back and sighed thoughtfully. “Trouble is, even if we can prove that Jared Bigelow rented a Poe costume, we still can’t prove that he wore it to kill anyone.”
Joe sat down again. “We have to come up with enough evidence for Raif to go to the D.A.’s office with at least a strong circumstantial case.”
“Let’s see what happens tomorrow,” Nikki advised. “In Baltimore.”
“For now, I think dinner’s in order,” Brent said. “I don’t know about you guys, but I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
They picked an Italian restaurant, on their innkeeper’s recommendation, and headed out. As they drove down Monument Avenue, Genevieve looked out at the statues that gave it its name, then gasped suddenly. “Stop!” she cried.
Joe pulled off to the side of the road so quickly that the driver behind him blasted his horn as he passed by.
“I’m sorry. I just…do you mind if I hop out for a minute?”
Joe lifted his hands and let them fall, at last staring at her as if she were crazy.
She climbed out of the car, aware that Nikki was following her as she walked across the street to stare up at the equestrian statue that had caught her attention so dramatically. Then she read the plaque at the bottom, identifying it as General James Ewell Brown Stuart, C.S.A.
“It’s him,” Genevieve breathed.
“Who?” Even Nikki sounded worried.
“I saw him. I saw him today at the cemetery. He spoke with Jefferson Davis and his wife. He tipped his hat to me.”
There was no denying it now, she thought as they walked back to the car. She really was seeing ghosts. She might have made up William Morton or somehow been influenced by Nikki’s proximity, but there was no denying that she’d seen General Stuart.
“I’m sorry,” Genevieve apologized when she got back in the car. “It’s such a beautiful statue that I just had to get a closer look.”
“Sure,” Joe said, and pulled back into traffic.
Genevieve had been given a large bedroom with a queen bed and a garden view. She wondered if Joe would be sharing it with her tonight, since she wasn’t sure of their footing at the moment. He had stayed with her last night, but that could have been simply because he was a good guy. He wouldn’t have left her alone, not when she had barely been able to stand.
But she was glad when he took it for granted that they would be staying together and went with her to her room. “This place was really a nice choice,” he told her, when she opened the door. “Leave it to Adam.” When she looked at him questioningly, he grimaced. “I probably would have opted for a chain hotel.”
She smiled. “Adam is good,” she said simply, then headed into the bathroom to shower. She closed the door, but she didn’t lock it. Then she turned the water on hot. And waited.
But he didn’t come. She sighed and picked up the soap.