Authors: Heather Graham
“Thorne is dead.”
“Credit cards can get around, you know?”
“So who do you like for it?”
“Jared Bigelow. And I’ve got him in custody.”
“You’ve arrested him for murder?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I still don’t have any proof on that. Although we did find a lady who lives down the block from him who said she saw Edgar Allan Poe walking around the neighborhood.”
“That’s something,” Joe said.
“I don’t know. She also told me that Martians had landed and were living in the house next door.”
“So what do you have Jared on?”
Raif chuckled softly. “Traffic.”
“Traffic?”
“And attempted bribery. He seems to think he doesn’t have to pay his parking tickets. He owes the city almost a thousand dollars, and the officer who stopped him wasn’t impressed with his offer of a gratuity, so at this moment, he isn’t getting out—no matter what kind of fancy lawyer he has—till the judge hears his case in the morning.”
“Oh, hell, Raif, you know he’ll make bail, so you don’t really have him.”
“I do if you can come up with something by tomorrow morning.”
He didn’t have a prayer, Joe thought. No, he didn’t even have the ghost of a chance. Still…
“Thanks, Raif. I’m still down in Maryland, but we’re heading back as soon as we finish eating.” He looked at his watch. “Think you can fix it so I can talk to him tonight?”
“Sure. I can arrange that.”
When Joe returned to the table, he quickly explained the situation.
“But he’ll get out, won’t he?” Genevieve said.
“As soon as we get back, I’m going to talk to him and try to get him to trip himself up. And if I don’t, I’m going to write up all the circumstantial evidence we have, which hopefully will be enough for the D.A.’s office to get a search warrant for his place and maybe even hold him.” Joe looked around the table. “They found out that one of the Bigelows, using Jared’s credit card, rented a Poe costume in Richmond and again in New York.”
Genevieve let out her breath softly. “So Jared did do it. Oh, God. He dressed up like Poe and met Lori Star, and then…”
She wondered if she looked as sick as she felt. Probably.
Their waitress arrived with their food. They ate quickly, then returned to the car and hit the road.
Adam promised that as soon as they got back he would get on the computer and start trying to place the Bigelows in Baltimore when Bradley Hicks had met his untimely demise, and also find out if Bigelow’s credit card had been used to rent a Poe costume there, too.
When they reached the station and Joe got out, he paused and held Gen’s eyes for a long moment. “Genevieve—”
“I know,” she interrupted softly. “I’ll be careful.”
He nodded. “I have my cell,” he said. “Call if you need me. For anything.”
“I can’t believe this might really be over,” Genevieve breathed as Brent got behind the wheel and swung the car out into traffic.
“Maybe. We’ll have to see,” Brent said. He met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “Want to come back to Adam’s place with us?”
She smiled. “Thank you, but no. I want to get home. Call my mom and talk for a bit. And no one has to babysit me, not tonight, anyway. Jared Bigelow is in jail.”
Adam frowned. “We
think
we’re on to the right man. We don’t
know
it yet. Genevieve—”
“I know,” she said firmly. “I’m just going to go home, talk to my mother and…reconcile myself, I guess.”
“To?” Nikki asked.
“Life—and death,” Genevieve told her.
Brent got the doorman to watch the car and carried her bag up, then went into the apartment with her, looked around to be sure it was safe, then smiled. “You going to be okay? I know it’s got to be tough, getting used to seeing a different world.”
“I’m going to be fine. But you and Nikki aren’t leaving right away, are you?”
“No. We’ll stay a few days.” He sobered. “We still have to make sure the case against Jared will stand up in court.”
“Right.”
He kissed her cheek. “If you need anything, just give us a call.”
“I’ll do that.”
A few minutes later, alone in her apartment, Genevieve made a cup of tea and then called Eileen. She didn’t tell her mother that she had started seeing ghosts. She simply told her that they might have found some solid evidence against Jared Bigelow.
“Jared!” Eileen said. Genevieve could imagine her mother’s stricken expression.
“Mom, you can’t say it’s a terrible shock, that he’s such a nice guy.”
“No, I suppose not. Does that mean I can go out with the other Ravens now? Maybe get a drink at O’Malley’s?” Eileen asked.
Genevieve hesitated. “Mom, they may not be able to keep Jared in jail past tonight.”
“All the more reason to head out now, then. Darling, I’m going stir-crazy.”
“Oh, Mom, I don’t know….”
“I’ll call for a car and have Henry walk me straight to it, and I’ll have it drop me off right at the door to O’Malley’s. I’ll even have it wait until I’m ready to go home, and get someone to walk me back to it, and I’ll call Henry and have him meet me when I come back. How’s that?”
“I suppose that will be all right.”
“Why don’t you join us?” Eileen asked.
“I don’t know. I think I’ll probably just hang out here.”
“All right. But you’re welcome to come if you change your mind.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Genevieve promised.
They bade each other good-night, and Genevieve hung up the phone and started unpacking. When the phone rang a few minutes later, she hurried to answer it, hoping it was Joe.
“Hello?”
“Genevieve?” It was a woman’s voice, but not one she recognized.
“Yes?”
“You wretched bitch!”
Stunned, she stared at the receiver, then hurriedly put the phone down. When it rang again, she didn’t answer it, just let her machine click on and waited.
“You stupid wretched bitch! You were jealous of me, and I know it. You made that friend of yours come after Jared.”
She realized that the caller had been drinking.
She also realized it was Mary Vincenzo.
She listened as the woman continued to rant into the phone until the built-in timer stopped Mary midvent.
The phone rang again. Determined to put Mary in her place, she started to pick it up, but the machine came on immediately. “I’m going to tear your hair out and cut your uppity rich little heart into pieces. You’re always flirting with him, now that you know who your mommy is. Well, you’re still just a bastard. A bastard she threw away at birth. And you should die. You deserve to die. And you know what? I’m coming to get you. I am!”
She walked over to the phone to pick it up to tell Mary what she should do with herself, but the phone clicked off.
A minute later it rang again. She picked up the receiver. “Look, Mary—”
“Um, it’s not Mary,” a shy, tentative voice interrupted her. “It’s Barbara. Barbara Hirshorn,” she said, as if afraid Genevieve might not remember her.
“Oh, Barbara. Sorry,” Genevieve said quickly.
“Lou and I are going to meet your mother at O’Malley’s. We were thinking you might want to join us.”
“I talked to my mother a little while ago and told her I thought I’d just stay home, but thanks for asking,” Genevieve said.
“Are you sure? We could swing by for you.”
Gen hesitated. She might as well go. Her mother wanted to see her, she wanted to see her mother, and she had no idea whether Joe would be coming by or not.
“You know, I think I will come. But you don’t need to pick me up. I’ll take my own car. I’ll see you all there in a little while.”
As soon as Barbara hung up, Gen dialed Joe’s cell. She didn’t expect to get him, and she didn’t, so she left a message. “Hey, Joe. It’s Gen. I’m going to be at O’Malley’s with my mother. Meet us there when you can. If you want to, I mean.”
That done, she brushed her hair, put on some lipstick and headed out. She took the elevator down to the garage, but she hadn’t taken two steps before she got the strange feeling that she was being followed. A ghost again? The ghost of Lori Star trying to reach her?
She felt the strongest temptation to run back to her apartment. All of a sudden she wanted to be anywhere but in the garage.
She heard a shuffling sound, followed by a breeze, like a whisper.
“Hey, Tim!” she called loudly. Surely he was here somewhere.
“Tim?”
There was no answer, and she could still feel the softness of the breeze against her face, warm and….
Urgent.
Almost imperceptibly at first, the air began to take shape, forming into something both there and not there. She could have sworn she was seeing Leslie MacIntyre, and she was speaking, desperately and in a whispered rush.
Go back, Genevieve. Go back to your apartment. Lock the door and call the police. Now! Quickly!
Without questioning why, Gen raced for the door, her key card out and ready.
And then she heard footsteps behind her. Real footsteps. Panicked, she turned…
And saw Edgar Allan Poe coming for her.
“Stop right there,” she snapped, at a loss for any other option.
And for a moment, it worked. The would-be Poe seemed to trip, even though there was nothing in his path.
Genevieve thought she heard Leslie’s voice again.
Hurry!
She dropped her purse as she fumbled with the door. The damned thing wouldn’t open. She realized too late that it had been jammed somehow. She hurriedly reached down for her purse, groping for the canister of Mace she always carried. She found it and turned, but she didn’t get a chance to use it, because something hit her in the head so hard that she saw stars.
“Bitch!” she vaguely heard someone say.
She couldn’t pass out, she told herself. If she did, she would be lost.
Who the hell was it? Mary Vincenzo? Had she come to make good on her threats?
She realized the canister was still in her hand, and she managed to aim it in the direction of her attacker and hit the spray button. She was rewarded with a howl of pain, but it was too late. Something came down on her head again, and she crashed to the garage floor.
Jared groaned when he saw Joe enter the private visitors’ room.
“Oh, great. The brilliant P. I. Okay, you got me. I didn’t pay my parking tickets.”
“But you did kill your father.”
Jared stared at him angrily. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I didn’t kill my father.”
“You killed your father, you killed William Morton and at the very least you contributed to the death of Bradley Hicks. You also murdered Lori Star and attempted to murder Sam Latham.”
“No!” Jared cried.
His horror and his fierce frown of denial certainly seemed real, Joe thought.
“Jared, I just came from Virginia, where you rented a Poe costume.”
“What?” Jared asked, sounding truly confused.
“Look,” Joe told him. “I can get the cops in here now, and they’ll take your confession and help you work out a deal with the D.A. to avoid the death penalty.”
“The death—what are you talking about?” Jared said. “What does renting a Poe costume in Virginia have to do with
murder?
”
For once, he didn’t look like a cocky rich kid, Joe thought. He looked genuinely frightened.
An act?
“Jared, we have proof,” Joe said, knowing he was stretching the truth pretty much to the breaking point.
“Proof?”
“Proof that you used your father’s card to rent a Poe costume, then drove out to William Morton’s house and killed him.”
Jared shook his head, staring wildly. “My father liked William Morton. He thought he was brilliant.”
“Is that why you killed him? Because you were jealous that your father thought more of Morton than he did of you?”
He was stunned when Jared suddenly burst into tears. “Look, I was…a jerk. I didn’t think I had to pay my tickets. But I didn’t kill anyone. I sure as hell didn’t kill my father, I swear it. I wasn’t even there when he died. I was working, and then I went down and bought a hot dog from the vendor outside the office. You can talk to him if you want.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone about the hot-dog vendor before?” Joe asked.
“I…I didn’t think of it.”
“What about the Sunday Lori Star was murdered?”
“I was at home.”
“Sure you were.”
“It’s true.” He reddened. “There were drugs involved. I admit it. But I was home.” He brightened. “I saw someone then, too!”
“Who?”
“The window washer. I know he’ll remember me. I had just poured myself a drink when I saw him out there, and I was joking around, pretending I was going to pour him a drink, too.” “Why the hell didn’t you tell the police about this before?” Joe demanded.
Jared shook his head. “Because…because I’m Jared Bigelow. I shouldn’t have to make excuses. I shouldn’t need an alibi. I’m Jared Bigelow,” he repeated in a small, defeated voice.
Disgusted, Joe turned away. Dammit. He believed the bastard. His story would be easy enough to prove. His building would have a contract with a window-washing service, and it would be easy enough to find whoever had been working there on a Sunday, of all days. No doubt the hot-dog vendor could be found and questioned, too.
But if it hadn’t been Jared…
It had to have been someone with Jared. With Thorne.
That left two people.
Mary Vincenzo. But did Mary have the strength to do what had been done to William Morton and Lori Star?
Or…
The butler.
Or there had been two killers. A woman and a man, working together.
One with the strength to strangle someone. And one who could slip into a hospital room in a nurse’s uniform, and not be noticed.
He suddenly remembered something. Something that had struck him as interesting a few days ago and then been forgotten in the welter of events.
Joe.
Someone had spoken his name, and it wasn’t Jared Bigelow.
And he recognized the voice.
He looked up.
Matt, or a semblance of Matt, was there. Matt, his cousin and best friend.
His dead cousin. His dead best friend.
Joe, she needs you. For the love of God, hurry!
Fear and urgency set in. If Jared wasn’t the killer, then the killer was still out there. And if Matt was urging him on…
She needs you,
Matt repeated.
Joe ran past the officer on duty outside the door without bothering to explain why he was in such a hurry. His cell phone was in his hand as he sprinted for the street. Genevieve didn’t pick up at her apartment, and she didn’t answer her cell. He tried Eileen’s number as he wondered why the hell you could never find a cab in New York when you really needed one.
“Joe!” Eileen said, pleased. “Are you joining us?”
His heart leaped. “Genevieve is with you?”
“No, but she may show up later.”
“Who’s with you?”
Eileen told him, and when she didn’t mention one name in particular, he knew he had just figured everything out at last, knew what had niggled at him since the funeral until he’d remembered it just a few minutes ago.
He didn’t want to panic Eileen, so he just said, “Ask Gen to call me if she shows up, all right? And don’t leave O’Malley’s.”
He hung up. Where? Where the hell would the killer have taken her?
Where else, but…
He was within walking distance, but he didn’t walk.
He ran.
Genevieve woke up slowly. Her head was pounding as if a thousand trucks were running through it. Worse than that, though, her arms hurt, as if there was a dead weight pulling on them.
Wherever she was, it was stuffy and it smelled funny.
She realized that there really was a dead weight on her arms. When she tried to move them, she heard what sounded like chains rattling.
It
was
chains.
She blinked, and her eyes adjusted to the semidarkness. But she was chained, and the weird smell was…
Mortar.
Someone was bricking her up behind a wall!
She fought back panic, reminded herself that she had been locked up underground by a maniac for weeks, and she had survived that. She had used her wits, and she had survived.
But this…
She heard the trowel moving in the concrete mixture, heard the telltale sounds as another brick was shoved into place.
Should she scream? Would there be any hope for her if she did?
Once the last brick went in, how much time would she have?
“She’s awake, I know it,” said a female voice.
Not Mary Vincenzo’s.
It was familiar, but it sounded different, more confident than she had ever heard it.
“Yes, she’s awake. Join us, won’t you, Genevieve?”
A man’s voice, and it was familiar, too.
She fought the panic setting in, trying to figure out the best way to play for time.
Time?
Time for what?
For help to arrive? What help? Joe was at the police station, convinced that all clues led to Jared Bigelow.
“Bennet, what a surprise,” Gen said flatly.
“Bennet? Come, come. You know my given name. Why not use it…Miss Genevieve.”
She lifted her head. The bricks that would eventually cover her face hadn’t been laid yet.
“All right, Albee,” she said. “I don’t get it. Or maybe I do. I suppose you’re furious because Jared gets the Bigelow money, even after you put up with
Thorny
for all those years.”
Feminine laughter rang out, and Barbara Hirshorn popped her head up behind Albee’s. “Don’t be silly.” Barbara had lost the Poe mustache she had been wearing, and though she still had on a man’s nineteenth-century suit and a black wig, her sharp features were now easily recognizable. “It’s not that at all.”
“Okay,” Gen said, frowning. “Then explain things to me. How did you do it? And why?”
“You really don’t understand anything, do you?” Barbara demanded.
“She should. After that trip to Richmond and Baltimore,” Bennet said.
How the hell had he known where she’d been? Gen didn’t ask the question, but Barbara answered it anyway.
She giggled again, as if she were the most clever creature in the world. “Your mother told me where you were, of course. I mean, who would worry about what they said to poor, meek little nobody Barbara?”
Albee Bennet had stopped laying bricks for the moment, too busy grinning at her. Beaming with pride and pleasure. “We really are very clever, Barbara and I,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” Gen said. “But I still don’t understand.”
“You don’t? You really don’t?” Bennet asked her.
“No.”
He smiled, setting his arm around Barbara’s shoulders. “Actually, taking care of Thorne the way we did was Barbara’s idea.”
“Poison in the wine,” Barbara said proudly. “My idea.”
Her mother had been the one to say it first, but they’d all agreed that, statistically speaking, poisoning was a woman’s method of murder.
“So clever,” Bennet said again.
“It was nothing,” Barbara said, blushing.
“He needed to die. It was justice, really. Just like those other two blowhards,” Bennet explained. “Best of all, there’s no way for anyone to prove that I had anything to do with it.”
“I’m sure there
is
a way. They just haven’t figured it out yet,” Genevieve said as confidently as she could.
Barbara just rolled her eyes. “Bennet is the genius, don’t you see? He knew Poe. He loved Poe. He can
be
Poe—far more effectively than I can. Once Thorne understood just how much Bennet knew about Poe, how he empathized with Poe, comprehended his work and everything about him, he would make Bennet come down for discussions. And everything Bennet said found its way into Thorne’s work. He used him! My brilliant Bennet. Thorne was horrible. He deserved to die.”
“What about Lori Star?” Genevieve demanded. “What about Sam Latham? He’s just a nice guy with a wife and two little kids.”
“Ah, yes, Sam.” Bennet sighed. “It couldn’t look as if we were only trying to kill Thorne, could it? I just happened to be on the road when I saw him pass me. I suddenly realized how easy it would be to engineer his death, so I drove like a bat out of hell to catch up. Unfortunately, he survived.”
“But someone else died that night. You killed an innocent man,” Genevieve told him. “A stranger who might not even have known the name Poe.”
Barbara gave that awful giggle again. “If he didn’t know Poe’s name, he definitely deserved to die,” she said.
“And that Lori Star…Well, I took care of her,” Bennet said. “She was so easy. So desperate for fame and fortune. I rented the boat before I donned my costume, of course. I knocked her out first, then killed her on land. It ended up being a lovely recreation, don’t you think?”
Genevieve’s skin felt as if it were crawling with a thousand bugs. “Wait a minute,” she said to Barbara. “You’re supposed to be at O’Malley’s. You called and asked me to go with you and Lou. Do you really think people won’t notice that you left?”
“Are you really as stupid as you seem?” Barbara asked. “I conveniently developed a headache and decided to stay home.” She turned to her partner in crime. “Albee, get busy,” she urged.
“Wait,” Genevieve said quickly.
“What is it?” Bennet asked impatiently.
“What about the other men?” she asked.
“That fellow in Richmond?” he asked, annoyed.
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “Don’t you see? It was the same thing! His research was faulty. He knew nothing. Everything he used in that book of his came from me. And did he so much as offer me an acknowledgment? He did not.”
“They’ll get you, you know,” Genevieve said. “Sooner or later, they’ll figure it out.”
Barbara burst out laughing. “I’ll swear Bennet was with me that Sunday morning, if anyone asks. And your dear friend Joe can vouch for his Sunday afternoon—you two came to visit.”
“So you managed everything on Sunday morning,” Genevieve said, looking at Bennet. “Impressive.”
“I helped,” Barbara said proudly. “I was ready with the car over in Jersey. Even that road will lead back to Jared, though. We rented the boat with one of Jared’s credit cards. The Bigelows were always a bit careless. Too much money! They had so much, they never noticed little things like missing credit cards. But enough is enough. I think it’s past time for you to be dead. Albee, get going,” Barbara said shrilly.
“Someone’s here,” Genevieve said.
They both started.
“She’s lying. She’s trying to slow us down,” Barbara said.
“It won’t make any difference, dear,” Bennet said.
“It could be Thorne Bigelow.”
They both froze, staring at her.
She smiled sweetly. “Ghosts do come back,” she warned.
“You’re crazy. But if it makes you happy, feel free to come back as a ghost,” Barbara said.
Albee started to slather on mortar so he could lay another brick, but suddenly he went still. “What’s that?” he demanded, poised to listen.
“What?” Barbara asked.
“There’s someone upstairs.”
“There can’t be. The alarm is on, and the door is locked,” Barbara said. “Stop paying attention to her. She’s playing games, trying to make us think Thorne’s coming back to haunt us. She’s just trying to buy herself time.”
“I’m telling you the truth,” Genevieve said. She managed to twist around a bit, and relieve some of the strain on her arms, but she couldn’t help breathing in all the dust Albee’s masonry was stirring up, and it was making her light-headed. She knew from the conversation that she had to be in Thorne Bigelow’s basement, but it clearly hadn’t been thoroughly cleaned in years.
And apparently they had built this special little niche just for her. When they were finished, no one would know there was anything behind it.
Oh, God. She had to keep them talking or she would panic.
Did it matter now whether she panicked or not?
“Albee, this is wrong,” Barbara said, suddenly irritated.
“What is?”
“She’s supposed to be begging and pleading and crying and all that,” Barbara said peevishly.
“I’m sorry. Are my questions messing up your scenario?” Genevieve demanded. “You’re so smug, but actually, you’ve messed up all your murders.”
“What the hell is that noise?” Bennet demanded, stopping.
“Oh, shut up, and finish!” Barbara demanded. “You’ve only got five bricks to go.”