When the Cat's Away

by Molly Fitz

  The museum sounded safe. I couldn’t be swayed because he was attractive. Persephone and Nicole had pointed a pretty credible finger in Henry’s direction when it came to suspects. It was probably the only thing they agreed on.

  I reminded myself what the reward money could do for the shelter.

  I wished I could bring Persephone as an emotional support cat. My partner in fighting crime.

  “What night would you like to meet?” I asked.

  The ladies’ mouths gaped. They thought this was a date.

  “They’re open late on Thursday. Does that work for you?”

  “It does.” A smile spread across my face.

  “Is there a better number to reach you at?”

  I gave him my cell number. Casey and Brooke came closer, trying to figure out who I was talking to. “See you Thursday.”

  Casey put her hands on her hips and blocked me from coming out from behind the desk. “Addie. Do you have a date?”

  “Not exactly.” The smile got bigger. “I’m meeting with one of Margaret’s patrons to talk about the missing painting.”

  “Who is it?” Brooke asked. “And how did he get the shelter number?”

  “Come on, let’s get back to work and I’ll tell you.”

  I motioned for them to follow me to the kennels. The dogs knew it was playtime and they were headed to the backyard while we cleaned out their area. Not everyone was excited. Poor old Rufus had been our longest resident. His muzzle had gone completely gray while he stayed with us. He didn’t love playing with the younger dogs, and I always let him curl up under my desk. There was a blanket and an old teddy bear that he loved to snuggle with waiting for him there.

  “We have three appointments for adoptions tomorrow. Beasley, Champ, and Meow Meow, so we have to get everything ready for them.”

  “You can’t change the subject like that. Tell us about your date.”

  “It’s not a date.” Although my burning cheeks said otherwise. “His name’s Henry and he’s an art teacher.”

  “In Boston?”

  “I assume so.”

  “Is he coming here?” Brooke asked.

  “I’m meeting him at the ICA.”

  Casey’s eyebrows disappeared into her bangs. “You’re going to Boston three times in one week? And your cheeks are pink. This is a date.”

  “I’m interested in meeting him. Again.”

  “Again?”

  “Yeah, I ran into him quickly when I brought Persephone back.” No need to tell them I meant that literally. “He might know something about the missing painting.”

  “Is he cute?” Casey asked.

  “Very.”

  “And this isn’t a date?”

  “He studied under Bellamy, and he spends a lot of time at the gallery.” I chewed my lip. “Margaret’s niece thinks he might be a suspect.”

  The girls gasped.

  “Why does she think that?” Casey was always calm when Brooke and I tended to freak out.

  “There was no sign of forced entry, and Henry has the code to the gallery. So Nicole, that’s the niece, thinks he might have helped himself.” I shrugged. “Teachers don’t make a lot of money, so—”

  Brooke held up her hands. “He could be dangerous. I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but there’s no way you can go on this date.”

  “There are other suspects. Like Sully, the handyman. He’s got a key too.” Maybe I needed to figure out a way to talk to him. He’d have a perspective no one else would.

  “But he didn’t ask you on a date.”

  “It’s not a date.”

  “Wait. Hear me out.” Casey tapped her finger against her chin. “Maybe Henry can understand Persephone too, and he’s the one who brought her all the way out here. The cat’s back, and his secret is in jeopardy. Brooke’s right. You can’t go on this date.”

  “We’re meeting in a totally public place.” My phone dinged in my pocket. I had a text from an unknown Boston number with an image attached. “Oh, my goodness.”

  “What?”

  Looking forward to meeting you was the message, accompanied by a photo. In case you didn’t remember me. I handed the phone to my coworkers. Their eyes widened as they examined exhibit one.

  “Henry is a total hottie.” Brooke whistled low as she handed the phone back to me.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

  “Oh, you’re totally going.” Casey took the phone from me one more time to check out Henry the hottie.

  I snatched the phone. “Minutes ago, you thought he was a serial killer.”

  “Art thief. Totally different story.” She pushed against Brooke’s shoulder. “We should go too.”

  “No.”

  She waved her hand. “You’ll never see us. Think of us as your invisible wing women. We’ll just be in the museum, immersing ourselves in art, and if gives you any hints he’s got a history of doing crimes, text us, and we’ll come to your rescue.”

  “Neither of you are very good at blending into the background.” But it would be nice to have someone there, in case they were right, and Henry was dangerous.

  “If we go with you, you don’t have to drive into the city,” Brooke added.

  My hatred of city driving was no secret.

  “We can be on the lookout for clues, too.” Casey picked up a dog that had been bouncing at her feet. “I’ve never solved a crime before, but given the right information, I might be good at it.”

  I laughed. “Or you don’t want to work on your new course.”

  She sighed as she put the dog down. “I’m in some serious need of inspiration. If I can use you as a case study on how to gain confidence in the places you least expect it…. That’s it! That’s my new course. See? You’re my inspiration, Addie. You can’t let me down.”

  Chapter Five

  Henry the Hottie waited for me in the lobby of the ICA, with his hands in the pockets of his khakis. His dark wavy hair was probably a week overdue for a cut, and his dark-rimmed glasses screamed academic chic.

  And I had to remind myself this was not a date.

  It took everything I had not to tuck tail and run back to the car. Like Brooke and Casey would let me. I had nothing to be nervous about—unless Nicole was right, and Henry had helped himself to the Bournaise.

  First, I talked to a cat. Now I thought I was going to crack an art heist.

  What even was my life?

  His face lit up when he saw me. Brooke and Casey had insisted on giving me a makeover before we left New Hampshire and I definitely wasn’t feeling like myself. I waved and walked over to him.

  My invisible wing women were already in the ticket line. Hopefully he didn’t see them give me the thumbs up as I approached.

  “Have you ever been here before?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know much about art, but I do like looking at it.”

  “I can work with that.” His smile shouldn’t have made my heart flutter. The voice was enough of a distraction. “I spend my days trying to get bored teenagers excited about the classics. Someone who’s interested? Piece of cake.”

  “Margaret told me you taught, but I assumed college.”

  “It’s a private school, so funding to the arts hasn’t been cut, yet, but the administrators have a very specific idea about culture. What will get the kids accepted into a top college. I wish they’d let me bring the students here, so they could appreciate work by people they might consider contemporaries, but if I want a paycheck, I have to teach their approved curriculum.”

  “Maybe you can sneak some of the modern stuff in,” I suggested as we headed to the line.

  “I do my best.”

  “A rulebreaker.” I inwardly groaned. Obvious, much?

  “Not exactly. But we should meet the students where they are, and then deepen their appreciation from there.” Henry waved me off when I pulled out my wallet, which I would be eternally grateful for. I was footing the bill for Brooke and Casey’s adventure t
onight, taking yet another advance against my imaginary reward money.

  “You work at an animal shelter?” he asked as we headed into the museum.

  I nodded. “I’ve been there for almost ten years now. It’s rewarding but heartbreaking work, even though Helping Paws is a no-kill shelter.”

  “I’d love to get a dog, but I’m not home much, and it wouldn’t be fair to him.”

  “We’re always looking for volunteers.” Good move, inviting a suspected thief to our shelter. But if he was a dog person, he couldn’t be all that bad. “What would you show an art novice on her first time here?”

  His face lit up. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “Margaret says you’re an artist.” I realized even if Henry gave me clues about something related to the theft, I’d have no idea. But maybe after his tutorial, things would make more sense on Saturday.

  When I had a chance to compare notes with Persephone.

  “I am, but I don’t worry about making my art commercial. So it’s taken a backseat to teaching.”

  “What makes art commercial?” I asked. The reward money would go a long way for him. Stolen art would supplement that schoolteacher’s salary, too.

  “Usually it’s approachable, agreeable, people want to see it in their house. Art should challenge everything you believe and make you think differently.”

  “I saw some of your work the other night when I met Margaret. I liked it.” It took me a while to come to that conclusion, but I was still thinking about it, which had to mean something.

  “Margaret’s been my biggest cheerleader since I moved to Boston. I might have given up on sculpting altogether if it hadn’t been for her encouragement.”

  We entered the exhibit area. I’d done a little online research about the artist. He’d been a protégé of Bournaise. They’d inhabited an artist colony in a remote, coastal area of France, and their work had been called groundbreaking and important, but my untrained eye didn’t quite see why.

  “Margaret said she was Bellamy Bournaise’s muse.” I hoped I didn’t divulge a secret.

  Henry grinned. “That woman is a lot more powerful than people give her credit for.”

  “How so?” I asked too loudly. Other patrons who came to take in the exhibit were side eyeing me. Brooke and Casey were in the room too, and I winced as Casey reached out and touched a boxy exhibit made of straight pins. The docents scolded her as she backed away.

  Henry saw it, too. He pressed his lips together as she left the room. “That’s what’s cool about this exhibit. It has the power to make people forget they’re in a museum and make them want to interact with it.”

  “True.” I was relieved he didn’t find Brooke’s faux pas too cringeworthy. “You didn’t answer my question about Margaret. How is she powerful?”

  “She knows how to speak the artists’ language. She’s smart and knows good work, important work, when she sees it. She makes suggestions that take a piece from good to great.”

  The woman I’d met seemed kind but understandably frazzled, considering the circumstances. And there was something about her that I connected with: people underestimated her. “Why did she leave France after Bellamy died?”

  “She wanted a change of scenery, to reconnect with her family after years away. It hasn’t been easy for her, and after the theft, I wouldn’t be surprised if she decided to sell the house and go back to France. But it would be a huge loss for the local art community.”

  So he didn’t want her to go, but he thought the theft might drive her away. I liked Henry, which seemed dangerous. I had to stay objective.

  We wandered around the exhibit. The work definitely wasn’t commercial, by Henry’s definition. It gave me a lot to think about. Henry explained the similarities between this and Bournaise’s work with ease that made me understand. He must be a great teacher.

  “Margaret said she didn’t want to sell Bellamy’s work. Why did she change her mind?”

  “The time’s right. Bournaise is having a moment, and she lived these paintings. I see it both ways—they’re the only living, breathing part of his memory she has left, and at the same time, it might feel good to let go. But I think her niece pressured her to act before she was ready.”

  “She seems concerned with the bottom line.”

  “You met her?”

  I nodded.

  He tensed. “Some people love beauty. Others love money.”

  “That’s a pretty good way to describe her, from what I can tell.” I sighed. “I never understood people who loved money.”

  Henry furrowed his brow.

  “When I was younger, everyone encouraged me to go into business. They said I’d never make money doing anything else. I’m terrible with numbers, and I don’t have a competitive bone in my body. I listened, because I was a kid and what did I know? After college, I got a job at a brokerage house.”

  A corner of his lip turned up into a smile. “How’d that go?”

  “I got fired. It was a mercy killing, to be honest.” I was probably saying way too much.

  “That’s why I want to expose my students to as much art as possible. To show them how many ideas are actually out there, and how badly we need theirs.”

  We were back in the lobby. Brooke and Casey were sitting at the café with fancy-looking drinks and a dessert plate between them. “I’ve worked at the shelter ever since.”

  “What did you want to do?”

  “I wanted to become a veterinarian.” I still toyed with the idea of going back to school. “But I’m still helping animals.”

  “It’s important work.” He committed to the smile, but he didn’t make eye contact. “There’s a place down the street that has great lobster rolls. Just a food truck, nothing fancy. Are you hungry?”

  My stomach rumbled, and I darted my gaze toward my wing women. They were laughing over something and not paying any attention to me, which meant they’d deemed Henry the Hottie safe.

  But had I?

  Chapter Six

  “These are amazing.” I would’ve totally passed by the truck Henry had ordered the lobster rolls from. We sat on a concrete wall under a multicolored sunset. Ocean waves crashed against it, and seagulls squawked overhead, angling for an opportunity for a French fry.

  I listened to their cries, hoping that I’d understand something. I wished I could talk to every animal. Maybe Persephone could teach me how. But I’d probably never see her again after Saturday night. I might never know what happened to Margaret, or the painting.

  Or Henry.

  All these people had been in my life for less than a week, but somehow, they’d managed to send me down a different path.

  Nothing from the seagulls. But I’d still leave them some fries.

  Henry wiped his mouth with his napkin. “This is one of my favorite places. You can see so many different parts of the city from here. The airport, and the shipping ports. Makes me feel like I’ve gone somewhere without leaving the city.”

  “Do you know anything about Margaret’s cat?” I groaned inwardly. So smooth.

  He furrowed his brow at my change of subject as he swallowed a bite of his lobster roll. “She’s a cat.”

  “Of course she is.” I couldn’t stop this train now that it was in motion. I needed to own my weird. It wasn’t like this was a date, and I was trying to impress Henry. “Have you picked up on anything unusual about her?”

  He shrugged. “She likes to sleep in the front window of the gallery. It’s the sunniest spot in the room. Gotta respect that.”

  “So nothing unusual.”

  Another funny look. “Margaret baby talks to her, which is funny, because it’s so unlike Margaret. And the cat seems to hate it.”

  She did, but I couldn’t tell him that. “I’m wondering how she wound up in my shelter in New Hampshire. Doesn’t seem to fit with the theft.”

  His gaze shifted to the shipping containers on the horizon. Seagulls still cawed around us, but there was something peace
ful about Henry, like he was the calm in the middle of the storm. “The two things might not be related.”

  But they were. “Do you have any ideas who could’ve done it? Are there other people who spend a lot of time at the gallery? Anyone who showed an unusual interest in the painting?”

  He paused for a moment and shook his head. “I’m mostly there late in the afternoon, because of my school schedule, and after hours. So it was often just Margaret and me, and sometimes her handyman.”

  “Sully?”

  He grinned. “That guy’s a trip. He’s always up in arms over what he hears on sports radio. I’ve had to talk him off the ledge more than once.”

  My heart knocked so hard against my ribcage there was no way Henry wouldn’t sense my apprehension. “Are the two of you friends?”

  “Not beyond the gallery. He cracks me up. Margaret swears he can fix anything.”

  “Is he interested in the paintings at all?”

  “I’m not even sure he’s noticed them.”

  I took another bite of my lobster roll. I usually ate all the lobster first and then the bun, but I was trying to be classy. “How did you connect with Margaret?

  “I heard that Bellamy Bournaise’s partner opened a gallery in Boston and I went and introduced myself. We have people in common, and I’ve been helping her come up with ways to capitalize on the foot traffic she gets from tourists.”

  “Did Margaret ever express concern over anyone who came into the gallery?”

  “I’ve already talked to the police, Addie.” He gave me a tight smile.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out that way.” The truth was, I liked Henry. Even if I shouldn’t. I might never have swiped right on his picture—okay, that was a lie, but I probably would’ve chickened out if this was an actual date—and I’d become an unexpected part of the theft. There wasn’t exactly etiquette for this situation.

  “I bet you’re a great teacher. You did an amazing job of explaining the exhibit to me.”

  His lips quirked into a smile. “You asked great questions.”

  “Guess questions are kind of my thing.” I bit into a fry. “I can’t stop thinking about how me winding up with Persephone and someone taking the painting could be connected. If Margaret owns that house and she’s sitting on all those Bournaises, she’s got some money. Do you think they could be extorting her?”