His heavy boots stamped mud into my foyer. He didn’t bother to shake off his coat, leaving small dribbles on the carpets. To my relief, that meant this visit would be fleeting.
“Did I interrupt dinner preparation?” He pointed his nose to the air like one of his hounds.
“No.” I smiled, not bothering to correct his guess. “I was about to eat something light.”
“I won’t be too long.” He smoothed his graying-brown hair back as it dripped from the rain. “I wanted to ask you about a disappearance.”
My heart smacked against my ribs, and I could feel the heat rising from my neck, choking me the longer I waited to respond. How did one respond to something like that?
“A disappearance?” My voice was having a hard time relaxing, too squeaky for comfort.
“Yes, have you read the papers?”
“N-no, they’re too troubling for me. I prefer things that don’t burden the delicate mind.” I cleared my throat, brushing the fabric of my skirt as I went back to the living room. “Can I get you something? Tea?”
He waved his hand in a polite declination before glancing around the room. What was he looking for?
“Who is missing?” I tried to keep the conversation going, silence an unbearable sensation.
“A friend of yours.” He stepped into the living room, trailing wet boot prints on the carpet.
The sight made me grimace, and I tried to dampen it, but it was too late. He saw.
The commissioner flashed a slight grin. What an unpleasantthinghe was. “Have you seen Vincent lately, Petronille?”
“No,” I said, leaning against the fireplace mantel, making myself small as he invaded on my home, my sanctuary.
“I was under the impression you two were close?” He approached, stopping in front of me. He was close enough that I could see the wirytexture of his mustache. The smell of cigar in his breath was grating, maybe a bit of liquor.
“I haven’t seen him.” I adjusted a knickknack on my mantel.
“I heard he was looking for you. You don’t seem to answer your door often, by the sound of his complaints.” He chuckled.
“I informed him that I was married and no longer in the ballet.”
“So youhaveseen him.”
“No.”
The commissioner nodded, glancing down at my dusty, unkempt mantel. “Congratulations, by the way.” He glanced back to me. “Where is your husband now?”
“At his studio. He’s an artisan.”
“Does this studio have an address?”
I looked away. “I don’t remember it. It is by the docks, I’m not sure which one. It’s all very confusing and congested down there. I haven’t been myself. I wouldn’t know.”
“Of course.” His tone of understanding poorly masked his air of annoyance. “How has your family been otherwise? I haven’t seen your father in a while.”
“He’s a busy man.” I massaged my thumb against my palm.
There was an awkward pause, then a sigh from my guest. “I have bothered you enough today, I suppose.” He placed his cap back on his head, giving a polite smile as he made for the front door.
I followed close behind as he crossed the threshold, my fingers itching to grasp the handle and lock him out. The door sang a pitchy whine, a glimpse of the outside promising the interaction was about to end.
He turned back around, his foot stuck straight in the gap as the door bounced back on his rubber boot.
My knuckles were white, my grip on the brass the only thing keeping my hand from shaking.
