Page 19 of Graceless

"Nothing. There was nothing. I looked."

"He doesn't sound like any insurance guy I've ever met, Cat. The window thing, the swearing — that's not assessor behavior, that's like... ex-military or something. Special forces. One of those."

"Yeah," I said. "Could be. He's got a body like⁠—"

Silence. The specific Nina silence. I heard my sentence arrive about a block behind my mouth.

"Like what, Cat."

"Like a person. A regular⁠—"

"Like WHAT."

"Like the doorway was built around him, okay? Like Michelangelo got a commission and overdelivered. Are you happy? He looks like something I'd charge a client six figures to restore and he sits in Nonna's kitchen chair holding a clipboard like it's a rosary, and I notice, I have EYES, noticing is my JOB⁠—"

"Uh-huh. It's professional."

"It's professional."

"Cat, honey." The change drawer, somewhere on her end, slammed shut like a verdict. "You just described the man's body to me at nine o'clock at night using the word 'commission.' You can pay ME a commission to come examine him. Hell, I'll do it for free."

"Shut up, Nina."

"Free of CHARGE, Cat⁠—"

"SHUT UP, Nina."

She let me have the win. Then her voice came back without any theater in it.

"But seriously, honey. You just told me this guy vanished. Twice now. Just — gone, off an empty street. That's terrifying. That is objectively a terrifying thing."

I was quiet.

"Cat. You're not scared."

"I'm not." I looked at the rolling pin under my hand. "I should be, right?"

"Yeah," Nina said. "That's the part that worries me. My Cat, who once made a locksmith show ID, cross-referenced — isn't scared."

"I'm aware of the irregularity."

"Rolling pin stays by the easel."

"It's already there."

"Good girl. Call me tomorrow. And Cat—" her voice dropped out of precinct, down into the Tuesday-lasagna register. "If the gut ever does say run? You run first and make it make sense later. Swear on the saints."

"I don't believe in the saints."

"SWEAR ANYWAY."

I swore anyway. I checked the chain. It was chained. I checked it anyway.

I didn't sleep much.

The bell rang at eight and my body had been up since seven.

That's its own exhibit, by the way. No alarm. Up at seven, showered, dressed, coffee going, and — this is the part I'd take to confession if I still went — I'd rehearsed. Standing at the bathroom mirror with my toothbrush like a microphone, I had prepared remarks. About last night. You don't get to go full doomsday prepper in my studio and then vanish off my block like a magic trick. I want an explanation or I want a different assessor. Strong. Reasonable. Airtight.