Brook Avery was a tall, imposing man who was the publisher of a literary magazine. He had a full head of snow-white hair, broad, substantial shoulders and a muscular build, especially for a man of sixty-odd years.
As they gathered in a private room at the Algonquin, Joe noticed that, despite what Gen had said about guests being welcome, Avery was looking at him as if he were an interloper. But since Eileen Brideswell had insisted that they be there, the man limited his response to disapproving, even suspicious, stares.
Joe was happy to return suspicion for suspicion. In his mind, if the murder was connected to Poe, then everyone there, other than Gen and her mother, was a potential suspect.
Including Brook Avery.
Joe looked around the room and considered the attendees one by one, starting with Don Tracy. Because he had never done film or TV, his name wasn’t well-known, but he was seldom out of work as an actor.
Nat Halloway was a banker. Fortysomething, thinning hair. An interesting prospect, he had managed Bigelow’s investments.
Lila Hawkins was a perfect society matron, big-breasted, tall, with an imperious manner and voice. She was involved with charities all over the city. She didn’t work; her family owned several large buildings on Park Avenue. Barbara Hirshorn was her complete opposite: thin, shy, nervous and a working woman, a librarian.
Lou Sayles was actually Louisa Sayles. She was retired from the school board, an attractive woman with silver hair and bright blue eyes. Rounding out the list was Larry Levine, a newspaper reporter. The best word to describe him was medium. Medium height, with medium-colored brown hair and light brown eyes and a medium build.
His work was much the same. He reported on events in New York. He wasn’t bad, he wasn’t great. He specialized in facts, ma’am, just the facts, nothing more. He was a solid reporter. He was not imaginative.
Joe knew about Larry Levine because he read the paper and because he had met him a few times through the years at social events with his cousin Matt.
He knew about the rest of the group, because Raif had kept his word and had faxed over his files on the rest of the board members. Meeting them face-to-face, however, was interesting.
Like Brook Avery, they were all happy to greet Genevieve, but they looked at him as if he were some kind of alien. Eileen had introduced him as Genevieve’s friend; she didn’t mention that he was a private investigator working the case. His line of work was hardly a secret, though; his name had been all over the media when Gen’s rescue and the truth behind the killings had come out.
Larry Levine definitely knew his line of work. He greeted Joe curiously as the group mingled over drinks. “So, Connolly. You working this?” he demanded.
He shrugged. “I’m just keeping an eye on Genevieve.”
“Good gig, eh?” Larry asked, looking appreciatively in her direction.
Joe couldn’t help the tension and anger that rose in response to the other man’s comment.
“She and her mother are fine people,” he said, and changed the subject. “Very sad about Thorne Bigelow.”
“You think?” Larry lifted his glass. “Can’t say this too loud here, but Thorne was a pompous ass. Should anyone be murdered? Hell, no. But I doubt most people here are going to miss him much.”
“People! Shall we get down to discussion?” Brook Avery called.
There was a moment’s confusion as they all took seats around the large oblong table.
Joe was between Genevieve and Eileen. Brook Avery remained standing at the head of the table.
“Tonight’s discussion is slated to focus on the financial feasibility of planning a tour to follow the route Poe took in the days before his death.”
“Brook!” Lila Hawkins interrupted sharply.
He was clearly displeased, but he paused and said patiently, “Lila?”
“Surely you’re joking!” she accused.
“I assure you, my dear Lila, I am not.”
“Then you should be,” she informed him. “Let’s face it. We shouldn’t be discussing business tonight. We should be discussing Thorne’s death.”
“Lila, what is there to discuss?” Brook Avery asked, then cocked his head meaningfully, indicating that they had guests in the room.
Lila Hawkins rose. She was clearly a woman who could stand her ground. “Oh, let’s all stop pussyfooting around. Genevieve is Eileen’s daughter. And Mr. Connolly—” She looked at him, and she had made it sound as if his name were a curse word. “—Mr. Connolly is here as a private investigator.”
They all stared at him. It was obvious he was being given the floor to speak.
He shrugged. “I should think you’d all want to know exactly what happened to Thorne,” he said quietly.
Lila spoke up again. “Of course we want to know. The question is, just how honest are any of us going to be? Tonight. Here and now. Amongst one another.”
“I—I—I don’t know what you could possibly mean, Lila,” Barbara Hirshorn said. Her eyes darted around the room. “It was terrible, just terrible. The poor man was murdered.”
“She means that one of us might have done it, my dear,” Don Tracy said. Joe wondered if the man was capable of speaking without sounding as if he were delivering a speech on stage.
Barbara gasped, clapping both hands over her mouth.
The rest of them stared at each other, suddenly suspicious of people they’d known for years.
Then they stared as one at Gen—as if she had brought the real monster, because the real monster might be the truth—before turning to Joe again.
As they did so, he suddenly felt spotlighted, one degree removed from the people around him. It was almost like an out-of-body experience, as if this were just a scene in a film and he was watching it. A dead man had spoken to him, and then he himself had spoken to a girl claiming to be a psychic, and he had actually believed her. Which made all this totally unlike anything he had ever dealt with before.
Murder suddenly seemed so simple.
While death itself was not.
At last he stood. “You don’t need to look at each other as if you’ve all suddenly turned into the devil,” he said. “There are any number of other possibilities, and the police will be investigating all of them. Perhaps the murderer is counting on you all turning on each other. Perhaps he—or she—is hoping that the police will believe it’s a member of the society. Nothing has been ruled out as yet.”
“So why don’t we try to rule out a few things?” Barbara asked.
Everyone was silent.
“Seriously, who here would have anything to gain by Thorne’s death?” Larry demanded.
“No one,” Eileen said evenly, glancing at her daughter. “No one,” she repeated firmly. “I very much doubt any of us are in Thorne’s will.”
“But is murder always for personal gain?” Don Tracy demanded dramatically.
“Of course not. Think about Poe’s stories. Characters were killed simply because they made the narrator crazy,” Barbara Hirshorn said. “So…did Thorne drive any of us completely crazy?”
Lila let out a laugh that sounded like a bark. “Seriously?” she asked.
Barbara looked as if her feelings had been hurt, as if she thought that Lila was laughing at her.
But Lou Sayles set a hand on her arm. “Barbara, dear, I don’t believe Lila was laughing at you but simply because, well, which one of us didn’t he drive crazy?”
Nat Halloway cleared his throat. “He was a bit of a braggart,” he said.
“Oh, come on. Jared isn’t here to listen to what we’re saying, so we might as well be honest. Braggart? He was obnoxious,” Lila said.
“We shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” Barbara said.
“Death doesn’t change the truth,” Larry said.
Don pointed at Larry and said, “Face it, Larry. You’ve always talked about writing a book on Poe, but Thorne went ahead and did it. You can’t tell me you weren’t at least a little bit jealous.”
“I wouldn’t have killed him for that,” Larry protested indignantly.
“Really? So what would you have killed him for?” Lila demanded.
“I wouldn’t kill anyone!” Larry said, his face suffusing with color.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Eileen said.
“People, really, there’s no need to start accusing each other,” Joe told them.
“It’s impossible not to talk about it,” Lila said.
“I’m not suggesting that you stop talking about it,” Joe said. “I just think there are more constructive conversations to have. So…Thorne Bigelow was a man who aggravated his friends. And when was the last time you each saw him?”
“I hadn’t seen him since our last meeting, a month ago,” Barbara said, relief in her voice, as if she now considered herself free from suspicion. “But, we would all have seen him the night he died. We were slated to attend a dinner to benefit a literacy foundation.”
“So everyone would have been at that dinner?” Joe asked.
“Everyone,” Eileen said. “Even Gen was going to go. With me.”
Joe nodded. “Okay, he died a week ago. Barbara says she hadn’t seen him in ages. What about the rest of you?”
“I had a meeting with him on Friday to discuss his finances,” Nat Halloway admitted. “I left him alive and well.”
Larry waved a hand in the air. “He was at the Whiskey Bar on Thursday night. I saw him there.”
“I saw him at the Whiskey Bar, too,” Brook admitted.
“Last month,” Lila said. “I hadn’t seen him since the last meeting.”
“That’s a lie,” Brook said.
“What?” Lila demanded.
“You were at Dooley’s Pub the Tuesday night before he was killed. I saw you there, and I saw Thorne there, too,” Brook announced.
So much for this being a friendly group, Joe decided.
