LITMIR.BIZ

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to ask.”

      “I knew you wanted something.” Although what kind of favor could Piper do from halfway around the world? Send someone a souvenir? “What do you need?”

      “I need you to pay a visit to someone there in Paris.”

      “Who?”

      Piper listened as her sister explained. The favor was for Piper to visit the sister of a dead artist named Nigel Rougeau.

      “Hey, isn’t your boss’s cat named Nigel?” she interrupted. Patience was always telling stories about the big Maine coon cat.

      “The cat’s a namesake,” Patience replied. “Nigel was Ana’s lover in the seventies.” Ana being the little old lady Patience worked for.

      Her sister went on to explain a very tragic story involving Ana and the painter. “There’s a small chance that one of the paintings Ana posed for still exists,” she said.

      “And you want me to talk with Nigel’s sister and find out for you.”

      “If anyone knows if one of Nigel’s paintings survived, it would be someone in his family.”

      True enough. Especially if Nigel and his sister were as close as she and Patience were.

      “I think she’d find talking to you a lot less intimidating than a private detective.”

      “I am definitely unintimidating,” Piper replied. More often than not, she was the one intimidated.

      “So you’ll do it?”

      “Of course.” A couple hours of her time was nothing. In fact, it would break up the monotony. “I’ll call her tomorrow and see if she’ll meet with me. Maybe you’ll luck out and there’ll be a big old painting of Ana hanging in her house.”

      “Wouldn’t that be something,” Patience said with a laugh. “Stuart and I will be glad for any information you can find out.”

      “Stuart, huh?” That was a new development. Until recently, Patience’s descriptions of Stuart Duchenko leaned more toward the suspicious jerk variety. Putting down her knife, she leaned close to the screen. “How are things going with the two of you? Is he still cool with, you know, the club?”

      “Seems to be,” Patience replied.

      “See? I told you he’d understand. It’s not like you went to work in that place because you liked dancing naked on tables.” It was the same reasoning Piper used on herself whenever the teasing at school got to be too much to bear. Of course, she never told Patience about what the kids used to say. Her sister was embarrassed enough.

      Case in point, the wince crossing Patience’s face right now. “Of course I didn’t, and you were right. Stuart says he understands.”

      “Wait—what do you mean ‘says he understands’? Don’t you believe him?” There was a note of reluctance in the comment Piper didn’t like.

      “No, I believe him. Stuart’s been great.”

      “Then what’s wrong?”

      “Nothing.” Patience shook her head.

      Nothing came with a very dreamy sigh. No way was Piper letting the reaction go by unnoticed. “Patience? What aren’t you telling me?”

      “Um...”

      Son of a gun, her sister was red as a tomato. There was only one thing that would make her blush that deeply. “Oh my God! Is something going on between you and your boss?”

      “He’s not my boss,” Patience said quickly. “He’s my boss’s nephew.”

      She was splitting hairs and they both knew it, which was why Piper asked, “What exactly is the difference?”

      “About the same as between you dating your boss and you dating his next-door neighbor.”

      “Pul—leeze.” Like that was a good example. “The only neighbor I’ve met is an eleven-year-old boy, and my boss doesn’t even...”

      “Doesn’t even what?”

      Notice I’m here. That’s what Piper was going to say, anyway. Only he had noticed tonight. Absently, she ran a knuckle down her cheek as she remembered his kind gesture.

      “Piper?”

      “Sorry,” she said, shaking off the memory. “I lost track of what I was about to say. And you still haven’t answered my question. Are you dating Stuart Duchenko?”

      There was a definite darkening to her sister’s blush. “For now, yes.”

      A different kind of heaviness took up space in Piper’s stomach. The same uncomfortable feeling she used to get as a kid when waiting to be picked for dodgeball. She was always left for last.

      Ignoring the sensation, she pushed her lips into a smile. “No way! That’s great! I’m so happy for you.” She was, childish reaction aside. She had no reason to feel anything but happy, really. It was just her pity party making its reappearance.

      “Don’t go making a big deal,” her sister was saying. “The two of us are having fun together, that’s all. It’s nothing serious.”

      The sparkle in Patience’s eyes said otherwise, but Piper kept the thought to herself. Patience would admit the truth soon enough.

      The two of them talked and joked while Piper worked and for a little while, her loneliness receded.

      “Why aren’t you making some fancy French dish?” Patience asked as she was putting the casserole in the oven.

      “Because I felt like macaroni and cheese. Would you feel better if I called it macaroni au fromage?”

      “A little.” From her chair on the other side of the world, her sister frowned again. “Are you sure you’re all right? You mentioned your boss earlier. Is he still treating you okay?”

      Once again, a paper towel and a smile flashed before Piper’s eyes. “He’s treating me fine.”

      “That sounded weird.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “The way you said ‘fine’ with a long sigh.”

      Piper rolled her eyes. As if her sigh could be any longer or dreamier-sounding than the ones her sister made. “How should I say it? He treats me fine. We hardly see each other.” Today’s encounters notwithstanding. “Not everyone socializes with their boss, you know. I meant Ana,” she added quickly before Patience got the wrong idea.

      “So long as he isn’t giving you a hard time.”

      “I swear, he isn’t.”

      They talked a little longer, mostly about silly stuff. Patience told a few stories about Nigel the cat and about how things were going with Stuart. Piper lied about how well school was going. By the time they said goodbye, she’d cooked and eaten her casserole. She would have said that the night was exactly what she needed, except that as soon as she turned off the computer, her melancholy returned stronger than ever.

      “It’s Hollywood’s fault,” she said to the Eiffel Tower a little while later. “All those movies making Paris look so wonderful. Leading a woman to hope life might be more magical under French skies.”

      There was a smudge on the glass. Breathing some fog on the pane, she wiped at it with her sleeve. Patience would be horrified by her casualness. Her sister took cleaning very seriously.

      Maybe if she tried a little harder. Gave more effort in class, learned to appreciate her surroundings more. Maybe then she could work up the enthusiasm she was supposed to feel for this adventure. Right now, she only felt tired. The carbohydrates were kicking in. Merging with her sad mood and killing what was left of her cleaning ambitions.

      Discarding

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