by C. S. Poe
MY KNOWLEDGE that Duncan Andrews was the killer was based on nothing but circumstantial evidence at best. It was my gut that told me, like when he mentioned loving Poe when we first met. His adoration of literature, and the roses he’d brought me at the diner, which were identical to the ones left in my shop. Especially the comment about my eyes, which I learned was from Poe’s poem, “A Valentine.” Nothing but circumstantial evidence.
Thank God I was right.
Not that it fucking mattered.
I needed to see Calvin, but no one would let me. When the ambulance came to pick him up, I wasn’t allowed to go with him. When I went to the hospital myself, I was turned away. I wasn’t a cop. I wasn’t family.
So scram.
My heart was fucking breaking. I was the reason for it all. If I’d just called Calvin instead of going to Beth’s with a half-formed, dumbass plan, none of this would have happened. Was he even alive? No one would tell me anything. I just needed to be assured he was okay. Even if he never wanted to see me again, I’d be okay with that. As long as he was alive.
“Sebastian?”
I had been prowling the hospital waiting room like an insane person but stopped at the sound of my name. I looked over, pushing up my glasses. “Quinn.” My heart dropped to my gut.
She motioned with a curt wave of her hand for me to follow away from the strangers in the room and down a quiet hallway.
I rushed after her. I had been awake for nearly two days straight and was fueled on nothing but coffee, adrenaline, and absolute fear. By the time Calvin had been rushed to the hospital and into surgery, visiting hours were long over and I had been told to leave. No one could make me rest, not Pop, Max—Jesus, even Beth came to my apartment to see I was tended to. I returned to the hospital that morning and stubbornly sat in the lobby, hoping, praying a nurse or passing cop would feel bad for me and let me in to see Calvin.
“Quinn,” I said, and my own voice sounded very strange and far away.
She stopped and looked up at me, holding out her hand and taking a breath. “Why are you here?”
“You know why. I only want to know if he’s… no one will tell me anything.”
Quinn pulled her coat off. She looked dapper in a suit and tie. Goddamn, I was so tired. She looked back up while holding the jacket against her chest with both arms crossed. “Calvin’s okay.”
I let out a shuddering breath and had to grab the banister on the wall.
“You know, the boys all call him Mr. Invincible,” she pointed out with a small smile.
I closed my eyes, took off my sunglasses, and quickly rubbed them dry on my sleeve. “He’s really okay?”
“Yes. They took him out of the ICU already.”
I put my glasses back on and looked at her. “Thank you,” I whispered.
Quinn seemed to hesitate for a minute, looking back over her shoulder once or twice. “Look. I know that Calvin’s family is here now. They were notified last night.”
I thought of the photograph in Calvin’s box under the bed.
“But I can go speak to Calvin and get you permission to see him.”
I wanted that. More than anything. To see him alive and breathing and to apologize until I was hoarse, but it didn’t seem right. I couldn’t make him feel obligated to see me.
And that photo. Calvin’s expression in that picture nagged at me. An unhappy man. A man with secrets. I knew in that moment that his own family didn’t know he was gay.
What a nightmare.
“No,” I said, having to clear my voice. “It’s okay.”
“You sure?” Quinn asked in surprise.
I nodded and took a step back. “He needs to rest.” I paused. “Can I ask you a question? About the case?”
Quinn shrugged a shoulder and nodded. “Sure.”
“Duncan—”
“He’s alive. You didn’t kill him,” she interjected.
“Oh.”
Okay. Good. I guess.
“How did Calvin know where to find me?”
“They found one print at your apartment. It got rushed through the system and came back matching Duncan Andrews. He was convicted of assault against his great uncle a year or so back. The late Edward Andrews, I should say.”
“The estate,” I replied.
She nodded. “He had no will, left Duncan nothing. Calvin mentioned he talked to you on the phone and that you were having lunch with that guy. When the prints came back and we realized it was the same Duncan, he tried calling to warn you to stay away, but you never answered.”
“I went to the library and left my phone on vibrate. Sometimes I don’t… notice it.”
“Yeah, well, he called the Emporium, your dad, and then he tried Good Books. Ms. Harrison said you were there for an event. Calvin went off fucking half-cocked without me.”
I remembered, when I had caught sight of Beth the night before, she had been hanging up the phone. Talking to Calvin moments before unveiling Tamerlane, and the entire event went to hell, courtesy of me.
“How’d he get into my shop and apartment?”
“Stole your keys and made copies, it looks like,” Quinn replied.
“Will I be arrested?” I asked next, sort of surprised by my question. “I had to shoot him—Duncan.” I had already gone through this with the responding officers, but if I couldn’t get confirmation from Calvin himself, his partner’s word was just as comforting.
“No. Hell no. Duncan Andrews brutally killed two people and assaulted you and his own uncle. He shot a detective. He’s definitely unstable and will probably plead insanity, but no, Sebastian. You aren’t going to jail,” Quinn answered.
There was that, at least.
I DIDN’T hear from Calvin the rest of the week.
So I guess whatever could have happened between us was over.
I know I had said I’d be okay with that so long as he was alive and well, but in all honesty, I wasn’t okay. I had never felt like this. Never felt so fucking helpless and broken and devastated. I’d only known Calvin for two weeks, but it felt as if everything in life had led up to us meeting. We were supposed to meet. I was supposed to love him.
I tried to placate the bitterness inside me with the knowledge that our relationship would have surely soured like mine had with Neil. If you’ve dated one closeted cop, you’ve dated them all. But that only made me have to lock myself in the bathroom of the Emporium for a bit so I could sob my fucking eyes out. I couldn’t win.
And so the days went until Christmas. It was snowing as I was getting ready to go to my dad’s place. He had offered to come to me, but I needed to get out. Needed to walk and breathe in that cold, festive air, and once and for all come to terms with what the universe had laid out for me. I wouldn’t start the new year with such blackness in my life.
There was a quick knock at my door, and I cursed at the thought that Pop felt he needed to come over and make sure I got to his apartment okay. “Coming,” I called, leaving the bathroom and drying my hands on my pants. “Pop,” I grumbled as I tugged open the door.
Calvin looked up.
My breath caught, and my stomach felt full of butterflies. “Cal,” I whispered.
“Am I interrupting?” he asked.
“N-No, no. I just—” I looked him over. Standing, breathing, arm in a sling with his jacket resting over his shoulder. “You’re really here.”
He held up a few folded pieces of paper. “I needed to return your letters.”
“Letters?”
He handed them over. “Smart. About Duncan. You figured all of that out without any of the information I had available.”
I felt my face heat up when I opened the notes I had all but forgotten about. My evidence against Duncan, should I have been hurt. My good-bye letters to Pop and to Calvin. “I didn’t—I’m sorry I left these. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Seb,” he said. “Can I tell you something?”
I swallowed painfully and nodded. His expression was raw and na
ked, so exposed from the usual guarded appearance Calvin wore.
“I know you couldn’t be with Neil because he denied his relationship with you. Look… baby… I’m no better.”
I gritted my teeth hard but nodded. How much of a hypocrite would I be to deny Neil but go through the same issue with Calvin? This was for the best.
“So I told my family.”
I immediately looked up. “What?”
Calvin looked a little sad. “They came to see me while I was in the hospital. I’ve never told any of them that I’m… gay.”
“Is everything okay?” I asked, but I knew it wasn’t.
Calvin forced a smile onto his face. “I know it’s not much, but if it’s a step in the right direction for you—”
I dropped the papers to the floor and grabbed him in a hug.
“Ouch! Fuck, baby!”
“I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed, pulling back.
Calvin winced and put a hand on my shoulder, managing another smile. “I love you, Sebastian.”
You know that whole cry because you’re so happy thing? I was so close to that. I smiled and wiped under my glasses. “Yeah, well, you’re not so bad yourself,” I said, grinning.
“Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Cal.”
“Can I come in? Or are we going to stay in the hallway for this?”
I scoffed and laughed. “Want to come have breakfast with my dad and me?”
Calvin smiled, and it was beautiful. “I would.”
C.S. POE is an author of gay mystery and romance. She believes that happily ever after is an attainable goal for any character, given enough elbow grease and legwork is provided.
C.S. lives in New York City, but has called a host of different locations home in the past, most recently Ibaraki, Japan. She regrets no longer having easy access to limited-edition candy, capsule toy machines, and clean trains, but over ten years in New York has proved to her there is no place quite like it.
She has an affinity for all things cute and colorful. C.S. is an avid fan of coffee, reading, and cats, in no particular order. She’s rescued three cats, including one found in a drain pipe in Japan who flew back to the States with her. Zak, Milo, and Kasper do their best on a daily basis to sidetrack her from work.
C.S. Poe can be followed on her website, which also has links to her Goodreads and social media pages. She can also be followed via her e-mail newsletter on the website.
Website: www.cspoe.com
By C.S. Poe
The Mystery of Nevermore
Published by DSP PUBLICATIONS
www.dsppublications.com
Published by
DSP PUBLICATIONS
5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA
www.dsppublications.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Mystery of Nevermore
© 2016 C.S. Poe.
Cover Art
© 2016 Reese Dante.
http://www.reesedante.com
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact DSP Publications, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dsppublications.com.
ISBN: 978-1-63477-069-9
Digital ISBN: 978-1-63477-070-5
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016902730
Published August 2016
v. 1.0
Printed in the United States of America
