After Hours at Dooryard Books

At the sound of his name, Nathaniel pries open his eyes, expecting to find Patrick on the other side of the bed. But when he reaches out, Patrick’s side of the bed is empty, the sheets cold.

“Sorry to wake you up,” Patrick says from the doorway, “but Maud Dempsey died. I need to go to uptown.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Nathaniel says, trying to remember if he’s supposed to know who Maud Dempsey is. He sits up, and Patrick hands him a cup of coffee.

“I never met her. She was a Whitman collector. She’s been collecting since Whitman was alive. Her lawyer just called. I want to see if it’s worth making an offer for the lot. I could use a second set of hands, if you’re interested.”