by Molly Fitz
“Like an art dealer.”
“Or a real estate agent.”
“Not that she mentioned. She got annoyed with the dealers and their lowball offers. She’d send them packing. It was a thing of beauty.”
“Sorry I didn’t get to see it.” I could totally picture it.
“Bournaises are going for crazy money right now. I wouldn’t be surprised if that painting has already changed hands.” He rubbed his face with his hand and sighed.
“Would any of those people have access to the gallery after hours? The police don’t seem to be taking the break-in seriously because there’s no sign of forced entry.”
“I never saw anyone else there after hours.”
“Does Margaret ever forget to lock up?”
He shook his head. “There’s a code on the keypad. It automatically disarms the security system.”
“So whoever did this was able to get in quietly while Margaret was upstairs and take off with the painting and the cat.”
He put the food containers into the paper bag. “I could ask how you wound up with her cat and why you’re so concerned with finding who did this.”
I opened my mouth, about to lay into him with a hearty dose of how dare you. But of course he thought I was suspicious. That was probably why he’d invited me out tonight. “Persephone was left in a duct-taped box on my doorstep in the middle of the night. We often reunite lost animals with their owners and stay in touch after the adoption to make sure everything goes smoothly. If something else happens and Persephone’s involved, she might not be so lucky next time.”
“That makes sense,” he said quietly, and his gaze was focused on the ocean. “I feel that way about my students. Sometimes there’s only so much I can help them, even when I know they need more from me. I’m an art teacher. It sounds so insignificant, but I might be the last chance of stopping these kids from making a bad decision.”
“What made you call me at the shelter?”
“Margaret raved about you. She was impressed that you went the extra mile to reunite her with her cat. She thought there was more to you than met the eye. And I do, too.”
It shouldn’t have felt like a compliment. Henry could be dangerous. “I’d never heard of Galerie Bellamy until Persephone…until I saw the story online.”
“I don’t want to end this night on a sour note,” he said. “It sounds like we both want to see Margaret get the painting back.”
I managed a smile. “We do.”
“Tell me more about the shelter.”
“Thank you for asking. No one ever does.”
He furrowed his brow. “Why not?”
“Probably because they’d rather forget the unpleasantries—that some animals come to us in bad shape. We’re a no-kill shelter, and we do our best to make sure everyone feels like they have a home. Every single day is different. It’s not an easy job, but there’s nothing I’d rather do.”
“What else do you like to do?”
I laughed, thinking of Brooke and Casey. “I order takeout and watch cooking shows.”
“Do you like to cook?”
“I believe in leaving such things to the experts.”
“Will you be at the party on Saturday night?”
“I will.”
He grinned. “Me too.”
Brooke and Casey were in front of the food truck, gesturing madly at me. I couldn’t figure out what they were trying to say without blowing our cover.
“We start early at the shelter.” I stretched and tried to make sly eye contact with my friends, to stop them before they made a scene. “And it’s a long drive back.”
“Yeah, I have an early start too.” He pulled out his phone and swiped. “I need to get a ride. With the T strike, things are crazy in the city.”
I bundled up my trash and sprinkled the rest of my fries on the rocks below. The seagulls divebombed in appreciation.
“Do you come to the city often?” he asked as we walked back.
“Almost never.”
“Sounds like that’s changing if you’re coming back on Saturday.”
Brooke and Casey were right behind us, close enough to hear our conversation. I stopped in front of our parking lot, and I hoped they were paying attention so they didn’t bump into us. “This is where I’m parked.”
He turned to me. “Maybe you’d like to go to a Sox game sometime?”
I raised a brow. “You can get tickets?” Every game was sold out and they went for a fortune on the secondary market.
“My uncle’s had season tickets since I was a kid. He can’t go to as many games anymore, and he lets me pick a few games. If you’d like to come with me, let me know.”
“I’d love that.”
“I had fun tonight, Addie.” He gave me a crooked grin. “We can compare notes on our investigations on Saturday.”
Brooke and Casey were sitting in the car, waiting for me.
I might have watched him walk back to the museum for a little too long, judging from the beep of the horn.
“I totally thought he was going to kiss you,” Brooke said when I climbed into the back seat.
Casey turned around and gave me the same look she usually reserved for the dogs when they peed on the floor. “You can’t just leave the museum like that, Addie. We were totally freaked out when we couldn’t find you.”
“He’s harmless, I think.”
“You also think he stole a priceless painting,” Brooke reminded me as a blush crept up my face. “That doesn’t change because Henry turned out to be a hottie. Did you get any good information out of him?”
“Not really. He said there were art brokers hanging around because Bournaise is hot, and I know Margaret’s on the fence about selling. And that she’s received offers for the house. But none of those people would have the security code.”
“Maybe a delivery person looking to make a quick buck when they realized the old woman is sitting on a goldmine?” Casey offered.
“Wouldn’t they deliver during business hours?”
“True.” Brooke tapped her finger against her lips as we sat in traffic. “Could it be some sort of hacker? Or someone who figured out the code from watching other people use it? Or maybe she left it on a sticky note somewhere?”
I shrugged.
“It would be so cool if we figured this out. Maybe we could open a side hustle as a private investigation firm.” Casey laughed. “We save animals and solve crimes.”
“Think about how amazing that would look on our dating profiles,” Brooke said. “And my postgrad applications.”
“I don’t think this will be a regular thing, but maybe we can use some of our new detective skills to find lost pets’ parents, especially if Casey keeps touching art exhibits.”
“I thought we were going to get tossed out.” Brooke laughed.
Casey’s face reddened. “It was made of straight pins. It was so…touchable.”
“Do you think he did it?” Brooke asked.
“We both managed to accuse each other of taking the painting.”
She gasped. “How did he think you did it?”
“He thinks it’s suspicious that I wound up with Persephone.” As we drove away from the museum, it gave me perspective. “He’s definitely got motive. The money. He’s got access with the code. He’s friendly with the handyman, who seems like he’d be able to do the heavy lifting. But he has a lot of respect for Margaret and the paintings. It will be interesting to see the two of them interact at the party.”
Casey turned around in her seat. “Did you tell him about Persephone?”
“That I could talk to her?”
She nodded.
“I hinted around, trying to ask him if he could talk to her without actually asking him, and wound up making it sound like I thought he’d taken the painting.”
“So how did you leave it with him?”
“He asked me to a Red Sox game.”
“That’s a date, Addie.”
�
�Yeah, it probably is.”
We were stopped in traffic, and Henry was in the next car. He turned and met my gaze, his face lighting up as he waved.
Brooke smiled at me in the rear-view mirror. “Sounds like you might get a reward out of this no matter what.”
Chapter Seven
Casey and Brooke thought I should get lucky. Or at least, wear Lucky. They’d brought the contents of their entire closets to Helping Paws, but the LBD was the clear winner.
“We should come with you.” Brooke frowned and walked around me in a circle, tapping her finger against her chin as Casey draped a scarf around my neck. The only thing harder than finding out who took the Bournaise was making me feel comfortable in this dangerously low-cut dress. It was a far cry from my usual big T-shirts and leggings. “Maybe Persephone can talk to us, too. She could have a connection with shelter workers.”
“You would’ve heard her when she was here. She’s not exactly shy.”
“We didn’t get to spend any time with her before you brought her back to Margaret,” Casey countered.
“The party is invite-only. I wish I could bring you. Going to a party where I don’t know anyone is like one of those dreams where you show up at work naked.”
“You know Henry.”
“Right. But he’s probably got connections in the art world, and he won’t want to have a clueless barnacle stuck to him.”
“He did ask you on another date.” Casey waggled her eyebrows. “Isn’t the point of this party to sell paintings? I’d think she’d want as many people there as possible.”
“Margaret wanted to cancel. She’s not sure she wants to sell any of the paintings anymore.”
“What if it’s an inside job? Margaret pretended the painting was stolen so she doesn’t have to sell it?” Brooke handed me a long necklace. “Loop this around your neck. You won’t be so self-conscious about your cleavage all night.”
I groaned and sat down, tugging at the hem of the dress. I wasn’t ready for Lucky. I must have a pair of nice black pants and a dressy shirt in my closet that still fit. “She’s still mourning Bellamy. This can’t be easy for her.”
“But the cat,” Brooke said. “If she packed her up in that awful box and just left her here…Ugh. Make sure you bring her home with you.”
“She loves her cat.” So there went that theory. “Maybe I should just leave well enough alone. I did my job. I reunited Persephone with her owner.”
“Can Persephone talk to Margaret?” Casey asked.
“No. She seemed flabbergasted by my claim and we never had a chance to talk about it.”
“You can’t abandon Persephone.” Brooke picked up one of the cats we’d let out of the kennel for the afternoon. We liked to give the animals as much freedom as we could. It kept them social, and prospective adopters loved seeing them free. “Imagine if you found the only person you could communicate with, and then, just like that, you never saw them again.”
“Not sure Margaret’s looking to do joint custody.”
Casey sat next to me, and another cat jumped into her lap. “What would you do with the reward money?”
“Put it into the shelter. Persephone says these kitties have a taste for tuna. Maybe buy a few outfits so I don’t have to keep borrowing your clothes when I want to look nice.”
“For your dates.” Brooke grinned.
“For whatever.”
“So you’re doing this for Persephone, and all our animals. You can’t let them down. You have to go tonight,” Casey said.
“You don’t want to let Henry down, either.” Brooke waggled her brows at me.
“No. I’m hoping that maybe Sully will be there too.”
“Wait, who? Did you go on another date without telling us?”
“No.” I laughed. “He’s Margaret’s handyman. I tried to get him to come fix something here but he wouldn’t come out this far.” I thought he might have been the one to bring Persephone here, but he’d acted like New Hampshire was closer to Mars than Boston, and I scratched that possibility off the list. “It’s a long shot, because everyone says he’s not into art, but I feel like he’d have a unique perspective.”
“I have a feeling I’ll be starving by the time we’re done getting everyone settled for the night. If Brooke and I were to say, have dinner in the Back Bay, would you like a ride to the party?” Casey proposed.
“That way you won’t get nervous when it takes forever to get there and park because of the strike, so you can be relaxed when you’re looking for clues. And when we’re done, we can do a little window shopping. Something tells me things look different from the other side of the glass.”
“You’ll never get a reservation for a Saturday night.”
“We can eat at the bar.”
“Fine, you can come.” I let my head fall back in defeat and the ladies high-fived.
“When this is over, you have to promise to wear some of those new clothes out with us,” Brooke said. “There’s never a dull moment with you, Addie.”
“First time I’ve ever heard that.”
“Stop underestimating yourself,” she said. “You always tell us how boring and awkward you are, but you’re about to solve a major art heist and you might have scored Henry the Hottie in the process.”
“When you put it that way, I do sound pretty awesome.” I laughed.
“I finally worked on my course last night, and I plan to ask my students to make a list of everything they do well or enjoy doing, even if they’re awful at it. You need to do that, Addie. You do amazing things for the animals at Helping Paws, and you gave us jobs. We were nervous too, but you made us believe in ourselves. That’s talent. And what if Persephone’s not the only cat you can talk to?”
“I’d love to get her back in here to talk to some of our residents to see what we’re missing.” I scratched the head of the kitty in Casey’s lap. I was rewarded with an audible purr. But no words. “It might help us place more of the animals, or at least make cuter, more accurate adoption ads for them.”
Brooke and Casey had started making social media posts that looked like dating profiles for our animals, and adoption requests skyrocketed. The problem was, once we placed an animal, there was always someone else who needed that kennel. Especially in a no-kill shelter.
“I’ll talk to Margaret.”
“Are you sure this is invite-only?” Brooke whistled as our car crawled past the gallery while she looked for a place to park. “There’s a line to get in.”
“I thought if we came early, I’d have a chance to talk to Persephone and come up with a plan before the rest of the guests arrived.” My heart sank. Now I’d have to get creative.
“Maybe we can run interference for you. Our reservations aren’t until eight-thirty.” Casey considered the line as she waited for the light to change. “We can come in like clueless tourists and make a lowball offer on one of the featured paintings. The patrons will be aghast, and no one will notice you’re talking to a cat.”
“I’ll text you if I need you.” But I had to be honest with myself—all possibilities were on the table tonight. The ladies might be my secret weapon after all. “I can get out here.”
“Are you sure?” Brooke asked.
“I’m wearing a dress called Lucky and co-conspiring with a cat. I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.” I took a deep breath and gripped the door handle. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do tonight, ladies.”
Casey rolled down the window and called after me. “Stop underestimating yourself, Addie. You’ve got this.”
Chapter Eight
Margaret and Nicole opened the doors minutes after I got in line.
“I’m so glad you came.” Margaret kissed me on the cheek. “I wasn’t sure we’d see you tonight.”
“I’m excited to see Bellamy’s work.”
“We scaled back,” Nicole said. From her frown, she wasn’t as happy to see me as her aunt. “The tone of the exhibit changed without its centerpiece,
and coming up with a new message on the fly is challenging.”
“I didn’t realize you were so involved in the presentation of the exhibit.” The last time I’d spoken to her, she sounded more interested in her aunt’s safety than the work.
She waved her hand dismissively. “I’m not. But I want to make sure this isn’t too stressful for my aunt.”
“You underestimate her.”
“You don’t know me or my family,” Nicole gasped. Margaret turned away from the gentleman she’d been talking to.
“I’m sorry.” My apology was for Margaret, not her niece. Nicole got under my skin, giving me flashbacks to the brokerage firm, the middle management that always made me feel like a total hot mess.
She rolled her eyes and accepted a drink off the waiter’s tray before turning away from me. Her hand was on the arm of an older man, and she laughed too loudly. Great. I’d already managed to cause a scene in the first minute of the party.
Maybe the girls were still stuck in traffic on this street…they could come save me after all.
“Don’t worry about her,” Margaret said. “She means well, but she doesn’t understand people like us.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. Margaret was cool and sophisticated in her patterned wrap dress, knee-high boots, and straight gray hair that shined like glass, and even though I looked great in Lucky, I worried I smelled like cat pee.
“What do you mean by people like us?”
“The ones that march to the beat of their own drum.” She gave me a knowing smile and pulled me away from the crowd. I scanned the room, looking for Persephone. The cat didn’t give off vibes like she’d be the type to hide under the furniture in a room full of strangers. I expected her to be perched on top of one of the exhibits, daring the patrons to admire her more than the art.
“Did Henry call you?” she asked in a low voice.
“He did.” My heart thumped at the mention of his name.
