Chapter 6
DORIAN
After sending my last customer off with a stack of mysteries, I locked the door, thinking about what I should do for dinner when I suddenly had an eerie feeling.
Not like someone was watching me. More like something was missing.
There were no customers left, obviously.
It was supposed to be quiet. But not this quiet.
My eyes swept the store, and then I knew.
It was Poe. Or rather, the absence of Poe.
He was not in any of his usual places. Cat bed was empty except for a play mouse one of my young customers had brought him.
He was not sprawled out on the “staff picks” table where he enjoyed staring at customers while they perused the choices.
Sometimes he hung out under the front desk, where he enjoyed climbing into empty boxes to take a nap.
Nothing there. He was not in my office, nor in any of the spaces in his penthouse suite kitty condo.
I went to the children’s section, sure he was there, wedged between picture books on the lowest shelf, daring kids to pull one out and disturb him. No sign of him.
I looked in the bathroom next. One time he’d locked himself in there, alerting me to his predicament with one indignant meow from behind the door as if I were the one to send him in there in the first place.
Where was he? I was starting to panic. What if he’d gotten out and was hit by a car?
I ran to the back door that led into the alley and, sure enough, it was slightly ajar.
Just enough space for one fat cat to get through.
But why would he have gone outside? He showed zero interest in inhabiting any space but the store, where he made himself quite at home.
Poe was not an adventurer. In fact, he was terribly lazy.
More of a book cat than a chase something down the alley type.
Poe’s idea of physical exertion was walking from his bed to his food bowl with a brief pause in the middle to reconsider whether the trip was worth it. I could not believe it.
I stepped into the alley, calling for him, as if he’d actually come to me if he thought that’s what I wanted. Still no sign of him. I jogged out to the sidewalk out front, looking under cars and behind trash cans, my earlier alarm having gone into complete panic mode.
Esme’s flower shop was two doors down. If Poe had wandered in that way, someone might have spotted him.
I jogged that direction, stopping at the front door.
Esme was behind the counter, putting together a large bouquet.
Her daughter, Madison, was perched on a stool reading a Junie B. Jones book I’d sold her last week.
“Dorian, what brings you by?” Esme gave me one of her sunny smiles.
“Hi, Dorian,” Madison said, jumping from the stool to give me a hug. The child was just like her mother, sweetness and light.
“I’m looking for Poe. He got out,” I said, surprised to hear a shake in my voice. I didn’t even love the darn cat. Maybe a little. Only because my mother had loved him so.
“Oh no. Do you know when?” Esme asked.
I tried to remember the last time I’d seen him. “I think it’s been fifteen or twenty minutes. But it could be longer. I didn’t see him leave, so I really don’t know.” A worried glance at the busy downtown street sent my blood pressure up.
“I saw him,” Madison said, matter-of-factly, as she climbed back on her stood.
“You did?” Esme asked, sharp. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know he couldn’t go out for walks,” Madison said. “Trevor goes out on walks a lot.”
“Trevor’s a dog,” Esme said. “Cats do not take walks outside. At least not house cats.”
Wondering about that, since he first came to the bookstore from the alley, I asked, “Did you see where he was going?” .
“I saw exactly where he went,” Madison said, in a tone that implied we were freaking out for no reason. “He went to Delphine’s gallery. I saw him walk right in there. Like he went there all the time, so I figured he did.”
“Why would you think that?” Esme asked.
“Because Dorian’s Delphine’s match,” Madison said. “I figured they’d finally started seeing each other, even though Robbie says they’re only eighty-eight percent compatible.”
Esme and I stared at Madison. Esme seemed as stunned as I. Was it the eighty-eight percent compatibility or the plan itself? I couldn’t help but wonder how high of a percentage the other couples they’d predicted had been. Was eighty-eight percent good? Or lacking?
Never mind. I needed to go get my cat.
From Delphine’s gallery. Great.
“There’s an art opening tonight at the gallery. We’re headed there to meet Grady and Robbie,” Esme said. “Come with us. We’ll help with Poe.”
“Yes, thank you. I appreciate it.”
A few minutes later, Esme had closed up her shop and the three of us were headed toward the gallery. Madison skipped ahead, but Esme fell in step with me.
“Sorry about that,” Esme said.
“Which part?”
“All of it?” Esme asked. “This whole matchmaking thing has been … I don’t even know what to say about it, other than the kids’ hearts are in the right place.”
“Why have me matched with Delphine? She doesn’t even like me.”
“That’s not true,” Esme said. “She’s just prickly.”
I didn’t say anything.
“And as far as Robbie’s compatibility test, that’s completely arbitrary. I mean, sort of. Actually, I don’t really understand what it means or how Robbie calculates it.”
“What were you and Grady?”
“I can’t remember.”
I had to laugh. “You’re a liar. Tell me.”
“We were close to one-hundred percent. I think ninety-eight.”
“And the other couples they predicted?” I asked.
“Similar.”
“Okay, then, I have nothing to worry about,” I said.
“That’s not a bad score. Considering.”
“Considering what?”
“Well, you know, Delphine. Being how she is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Closed off. Since she lost her husband, it’s like the lights just went out in her eyes, and I don’t know when they’re going to be turned back on. So you shouldn’t take anything she says or does personally.”
“Seraphina’s been trying to set us up for a year or so,” I said. “But Delphine was having none of it.”
“Right.” She gave me a sideways glance as we approached the gallery. “Are you interested?”
“In Delphine? No, I can’t say I am. I’m not twenty. I don’t waste time with a woman who isn’t into me. That’s a futile game.”
If only she wasn’t so drop dead gorgeous. I kept that to myself.
We were at the gallery by then. I held the door open for Esme and Madison, who had stopped to pet a dog tied to a tree in front of the building.
The gallery was hopping, filled with art lovers sipping wine and gazing at the paintings. And in the front display window, sitting in a spot of sunlight watching the party with a disdainful glint in his eye? My old friend Poe.
“There he is, Dorian,” Madison said. “I knew he was here.”
Before I could respond, I noticed Delphine walking toward us. She looked spectacular in a dark gray dress that showed off her even more spectacular figure. And those long legs of hers? They made me lightheaded.
Esme had spotted Grady and excused herself before Delphine reached me. I was pretty sure that was on purpose.
“What are you doing here?” Delphine asked.
“I was going to come anyway.” A white lie. I’d wanted to come but had talked myself out of it. “But then Poe went missing. Madison said she saw him saunter in through your back door.”
Her eyes widened. “Poe? Here?”
I pointed toward the window. Poe was now stretched out lengthways with his chin in his paws, looking bored. “He snuck out.”
“And came here?” She smiled, playing with a necklace that hung low on her neck. “I wonder what made him do that?”
“I think he likes you. And he’s never thought too highly of me.”
“He did climb onto my lap. That’s the most male attention I’ve had in a while.” She seemed to immediately regret her words because she quickly suggested coaxing Poe out of the window so I could take him home.
“Would it be all right if I looked at the paintings first?” I asked. “He looks pretty cozy.”
“Yes, of course. Are you an art lover?”
“I like beautiful things in all their forms, whether made by nature or human.”
“You’re in for a treat then. Maren’s pieces are gorgeous.”
She led me over to the first one. I glanced around, seeing that she had them in a specific order, numbered from one to six.
“Are they meant to be seen in numerical order?” I asked.
“That’s what I’d like people to do. They don’t always cooperate. But I think a series has a story to tell, so I arrange them how I think they should go.”
“Does the artist ever disagree?”
“Not so far,” Delphine said.
We stopped in front of the first painting. Although an abstract, I could see right away that it was the sea—dark—almost angry—swirls of navy and charcoal, with thick ridges of paint that caught the gallery lights like actual water. It felt like standing too close to a storm.
“This one feels almost violent,” I said. Not the most articulate observation, but it was honest.
“It’s meant to be. Maren calls this one Surge.
She wants it to hit you before you’re ready.
” Delphine stood beside me with her hands clasped in front of her.
She was different here. Completely certain and confident.
This was clearly her territory. “Most people stop at this one the longest. They’re drawn to the drama. ”
“But you don’t want them to stay here.”
She glanced at me, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, before she moved us to the second piece. This one was darker still, but quieter. Layers of blue so deep they were nearly black, with no horizon line, no sense of where the surface was. Looking at it felt like sinking.
“This one’s called Fathom,” Delphine said. “It’s the ocean at night. No light, no reference point. Just depth.”
“It’s disorienting.”
“That’s the idea.”
The third was all grays. Soft, heavy, blurred at the edges, like looking at the water through fog. After the intensity of the first two, it should have been a relief. But it wasn’t. It was worse, somehow. The other two were dramatic. This one felt simply empty and sad.