Perfectly Matched (7 page)

“Well, did you ever read that book about the cat that could predict death?” Her voice sounded echoey, as if she was cupping her phone with her hand so people couldn’t overhear what she was saying.

“No...” I glanced at Ebbie. She was curled up on my office chair, sound asleep. I’d stopped at a pet boutique on
Charles Street
and picked up a kitty litter box, some food, and other supplies I might need to keep Ebbie happy for a while.

Em had let me keep the water bottle, so I was still using its top as a water dish.

So far, if Ebbie had any sort of cosmic message for me, she was keeping it to herself. Though, I had to admit, I spent a few extra minutes checking out the nice clerk at the pet shop as a possible match for Jeremy. I had to assume that Ebbie’s presence in my life was going to lead me to hi
s soul mate—one way or another.

Unfortunately, the woman was married. Matrimony tended to put a damper on dating.

Unless you were my father.

Well, at least how he
used
to be before this current reunion with my mother.

I should also admit, I’d spent a good half hour holding up colored fabric swatches—one of my father’s tools for matching clients—to Ebbie, in hopes she’d paw one, giving me a clue as to who would be Jeremy’s best match.

She’d only blinked lazily at me and yawned.

“Well,”
Preston
said, “there was this cat that lived in a nursing home, and it could sense when people were going to die. It would cuddle with them, then
poof
! A couple of hours later they’re goners.”

I shoved another file in the box. There were already six boxes stacked near the door, ready to be taken to storage. The movers would be here later this afternoon. “Where are you going with this,
Preston
?”

“Dr. Paul is that cat!”

Amazingly, I understood her reference, but I couldn’t help having a little fun with her. “He cuddles with his patients? That is creepy.”

“Lucy Valentine, so help me. You don’t know what I’ve been through this morning. Dr. Paul has already predicted two deaths, and those patients are now in the morgue. The morgue! He says he gets a vibe from them and knows when their death is near. There’s nothing overtly medical about it. The patients can appear perfectly status quo, but he gets this glazed look in his eyes, and an hour or two later, there are nurses running everywhere…crash carts…chaos! He’s creeping me out. Creeping! Me! Out!” She dropped her voice even more. “I think he might be a serial killer. One of those angels of death doctors. Can’t you see it?”

“No.” I really couldn’t. Squeaky-clean Dr. Paul? No way. “Did he tell them they were going to die?”

It was a big psychic no-no to predict death. There weren’t many beneficial outcomes to such a reading, and would most likely only cause pain—something most psychics strove to avoid. The only exception to this rule was when the outcome could be changed in some way, a preventative measure—as in a potential murder. Even then, dealing with death was tricky.

Thankfully, I didn’t have death visions (and hoped I never would), so my conscience was (somewhat) free and clear. I would probably always carry guilt that I couldn’t help more people with my limited abilities...

But I was working on that.

The pink bear jutted from my tote bag, and I couldn’t help the bubble of hope that was growing inside me. Maybe I could find
Bethany
.

“Oh,”
Preston
said, “he was all kind and compassionate about it. Asked the patients what their favorite food was and then ordered it. Called their families and said a visit might be a good idea...”

“And you think those things are the hallmarks of a serial killer?”

“Obviously, he’s a smart serial killer. Trying to throw us off his track.”

I reached for another file. “I think you’ve been sniffing too much rubbing alcohol.”

“How do
you
explain it?” she asked.

“He’s psychic, remember? With his ability, he can predict death.”

She scoffed. “I knew you’d take his side. I’ve got to go. He just came out of another room with that glazed look in his eyes again. I’m going to go talk to the patient before it’s too late.”

“You’re the picture of sensitivity.”

“Bite me,” she said and hung up.

I laughed. Ebbie woke from her nap and yawned. “Almost done here,” I said to her. “Then we’ll take you back to my place.”

I glanced up when I heard footsteps in the hallway. I hoped Sean was finally back with an update about the arsonist. Instead, my father approached the doorway to my office, looking as suave and debonair as always. In his fifties, he was tall, slim, and old-time movie star handsome. Well, except for the hickey on his neck.

See what I meant by my parents being traumatizing?

“Lucy, Suz said you wanted to see me?” Dark silver-streaked eyebrows drew downward in a deep V as he looked around. “What’s with all these boxes?” His face contorted comically and he sneezed.

“Bless you.” When Dad sneezed was one of the few times he didn’t look refined.

He sneezed again, and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. “Is that a...” His eyes widened in horror. “A kitty litter box?”

I was hoping he wouldn’t notice that.

He leaned to his left and stared at my chair. “Is that...”

Or notice Ebbie, either.

He was allergic to cats.

“It’s temporary,” I said as Ebbie stretched and eyed my father like he was a giant cat-scratch post.

“Lucy Juliet Valentine...,” he boomed.

I winced. “I can explain.”

He sneezed again, and I noticed his eyes had started watering. “In my office. Now.”

Reluctantly, I pushed the box I was working on aside and followed him out. I closed the door tightly behind me so Ebbie couldn’t escape. Even though that would serve Jeremy Cross right for leaving her with me, I didn’t want a lost cat on my conscience.

The short hallway felt like a brick oven as I tromped behind my father. I could practically see steam coming from his ears like something out of a cartoon. I’d like to say that I’d never seen my dad so furious, but I’d pushed my luck with him a time or two or twelve before.

In all honesty, it was rather easy to do since we were so very different. He was caviar whereas I was egg salad.

I contributed my complete lack of arrogance to being brought up by Raphael (a salt-of-the-earth kind of guy) and my very hippie trippy mother. And even though I’d been raised with every advantage and had access to a hefty trust fund, I knew how very lucky I was. Especially in comparison to the way Sean had grown up.

Even though we spent a lot of time together now, my father hadn’t been huge part of my life in my younger years (his social calendar often took precedence). But all along, even when he wasn’t a huge presence in my life and we were often at odds, there was one thing that overcame all that.

Unconditional love. I had always known how much he loved me—even when he wasn’t very good at showing it.

Which I was whole-heartedly counting on to save me from a cat-induced tirade as we headed into his office.

When he stopped short in front of me, I nearly walked straight into his back.

Deathly quiet, he said, “Someone had better tell me what the hell is going on around here.”

I peeked around him and saw that Suz had already packed all his files. A dozen boxes sat stacked by his door. Priceless artwork had been bubble-wrapped, and even family photos were missing from their frames.

He spun around. “Lucy?”

“It’s like this,” I said, feeling slightly guilty as I looked into his red, watery eyes. Maybe keeping Ebbie here with me today hadn’t been the best idea. I should have had Sean take her upstairs this morning, but I’d been worried that he’d be too preoccupied to keep a close eye on her. As I noticed Dad’s eyes starting to swell, I thought about what a bitch hindsight could be. I blurted, “We need to vacate the premises for a few days.”

His temples pulsed, his nose twitched, and he sneezed again. “The part for the air-conditioning will be here soon enough.”

“It’s not that,” I said, even though I wasn’t going to miss working in an oven. I glanced around. I needed backup. “Where’s Suz?”

He sneezed again. “Lunch.”

She probably skedaddled right after my father came back to the office. Smart woman.

He stepped around the boxes and into his office, stood in front of his massive desk, and looked around in utter shock. Not all that long ago, he’d had a heart attack. By the look of his red face, throbbing veins, and wild eyes, I could see another one looming.

I quickly explained about Sam.

Dad sat on the edge of his desk, and tried to stare me down. Ordinarily, it was a look that would have me backing quickly toward the doorway, but today with his watery, puffy eyes and that hickey on his neck, it di
dn’t so much as make me wobble.

“Even if—and I stress the word if—Sam is a target,” he said, “that is no reason for us to close down this building. Others count on us. Not only our clients, but also Maggie and all her employees, and the cleaning crew. And the families of all those people. If we don’t work, they don’t work. If they don’t work, they don’t get paid. Not everyone has a nice cushy trust fund to fall back on.”

Oh, he was playing dirty.

I folded my arms across my chest. My internal temperature was soaring—hotter than the mercury outside, which was nearing one hundred degrees.

I knew he was right about the employees—we had a responsibility to them, but there was another issue at stake here. “Are you willing to risk the lives of all those people on the off-chance that
you’re right? Because I’m not.”

“The arsonist strikes only at night. The building is closed at night. There is no risk factor.”

I hated when he used condescension to try and prove his point. It was almost as bad as when people raised their voices, thinking
louder
automatically meant
accurate
.

“No?” I asked. “Because even though
we
don’t work at night, several of Maggie’s employees do. And so does the cleaning crew.”

His shoulders stiffened. He hated being wrong.

I could play dirty, too, and hit him where it really hurt. His wallet. “Think of the liability factor. The lawsuits that could happen if someone was hurt—or heaven forbid killed—and we could have prevented it?”

One of the muscles in his cheek jumped. He dabbed at his leaky eyes with his handkerchief. “It is highly unlikely that will be the case. And tell me, what happens if the arsonist isn’t caught in a few days? Do we stay closed indefinitely?”

I hadn’t thought of that. “Maybe, but let’s take it one day at a time.”

“No. This is insanity. I will not have some pyromaniac chase me from my own company. We’re staying.” He sneezed. “And what possessed you to bring that cat in here?”

He wasn’t going to change the subject so easily. This conversation was far from over. “The cat is a long story, one we don’t have time for because we need to finish packing.”

“Lucy,” he warned.

I couldn’t believe he wasn’t seeing reason. Out of options, I did the only thing I could do in this situation. I played my trump card. “Don’t make me get Dovie involved.”

His mother, my grandmother, was a force to be reckoned with. The last thing Dad would want was to go toe-to-toe with her.

His puffy eyes twitched. “You wouldn’t,” he said darkly.

“Try me.” I knew Dovie would side with me in an argument...and more importantly, so did my father.

He let out a deep breath, crossed his arms, and said, “I’ve been thinking about a vacation anyway.”

Victory! I tried not to smile. “Oh? To where?”

“Your mother and I are considering
British Columbia
.”

“Lovely this time of year.”

“Indeed.”

We stared at each other for a long moment, and then he said, “I’ll have Suz cancel my appointments for the rest of the week.”

“Already done.”

His lips pressed into a thin hard line. “Then I suppose there’s nothing left for me to do but go and pack.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, wait. There is one more thing.”

I didn’t like the mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

“What’s that?” I asked, already dreading the answer. No one won a battle with my father without casualties.

“Why, evict Sean from my penthouse, of course.”

My jaw dropped. Was he serious? “What? Why?”

“You said Sam is vacating his home. It stands to reason that he’ll stay with Sean. And, Lucy Juliet Valentine, you’ve completely lost your mind if you think I’m going to let some arsonist burn down my five million dollar house. Sean has to go. Today. I’ll call Raphael—he’ll help Sean pack.”

I pursed my lips.

He cocked his head, narrowed puffy eyes, and smiled oh-so-slyly.