by Clea Simon
Clara didn’t comment. In part, because she agreed—cats had been caught up in witchcraft trials over the centuries almost always because of mistakes their people had made. In part, because she was also hoping to hear more of what Becca was trying to communicate to this aunt of hers. Although she vaguely understood the idea of writing, she couldn’t read. It was only because of her diligence staring at Becca’s keyboard that she even managed to make sense of the flat, scentless images that popped up there, seemingly at the coaxing of her person’s quick-moving fingers. Thanks to Laurel—even if she was loath to admit it—Clara knew the basics of her own family history. Knew about their ancient lineage and their bond with the special humans with whom they lived. Still, both her sisters had been frustratingly vague about the details of their royal duties. Clara was hoping for more.
So, it seemed, was Becca, from the hopeful lift in her voice. “If you have any information, would you let me know?”
A flourish and a final tap, and Becca sat back with a sigh that would have done Harriet proud. Of course, by then, Clara’s oldest sister was snoring gently once again on her special velvet pillow. In truth, Clara was starting to doze, too. But when Becca roused herself to head toward her bed soon after, her smallest cat joined her, knowing her sisters would be along soon.
Chapter 10
It seemed but a moment later that Becca’s phone began to buzz.
“Aunt Tabby?” Becca sat up, blinking, as if from a pleasant dream, unsettling the three felines who were stretched out alongside her. “No, wait,” she reached for the device, which had begun to skitter across the nightstand like a beetle on its back. “Of course not. Hey, Maddy, what’s up? How was the party?”
A few minutes later and Harriet was once again asleep. Laurel had jumped down in search of some more entertaining company, while Clara, eyes still closed, was doing her best to remember a particularly fascinating dream.
“A cute new feline specialist?” Her person’s voice reached her through her drowse, but even as she listened, she let herself continue to drift. Something about their mother…or was it their great-grandmother? Becca’s voice broke in once more. “Do you mean for me or for the cats?”
A pause, but the dream image was gone.
“Okay, not cute. Sweet. So, did you like him?”
As Becca rambled on, Clara stretched. She had slept through most of the night, which was unusual. The day’s adventures had clearly taken their toll, and she’d been grateful to have her person safe at home. If only she could count on a lazy Sunday, she thought, examining one white front paw, all would be well. However, a tingling of her long guard hairs alerted her that something was up, and she sheathed the claws she’d begun trimming. Becca might not realize it yet, but she was about to require her pet’s full attention.
“Wait, Maddy, you’re not making sense. He does emergency care? Oh, hang on.” Becca held the phone away from her ear and studied it with the intensity Laurel would give a bug. “I’ve got…I’ve got to take this.”
Perhaps to change her view, Becca stood and walked toward the window. “Hi, Mrs. Cross,” she said. The smile on her face must have been a little bit forced, but it lightened her voice regardless. “I was meaning to call you. I might have been a bit rude—uh, hasty in some things I said, but I’m afraid I really can’t reconsider. I understand that you’re upset, but my other client did approach me first. For what it’s worth, I did attempt to speak to your husband…”
Becca jumped down, accidentally nudging Harriet, who grunted. “What’s up?” She blinked up at Clara and then over at their person. “Why’s Becca so awake?”
“I think she’s upset,” answered Clara with concern.
“Wait, no. Mrs. Cross—Margaret, please slow down.” Becca put a hand out, as if she could physically contain the woman on the other end. “No, I didn’t see him. I went down to the lot, though, and I heard him. I thought you two were talking on the phone… What do you mean, did I talk to the police? Mrs. Cross, please—I’m sorry, what? But that’s impossible. I was just there. And I know that when I left, your husband was still alive.”
***
“What is she doing?” Even though Becca had hurriedly served her cats their breakfast, Harriet was fretting. And for once, Clara couldn’t blame her. Here it was, Sunday morning, and yet Becca had already grabbed her coat and was in the process of wrapping a scarf around her neck. The three cats circled her uneasily as she searched for her hat. “Doesn’t she know we need her here?”
“I’m sure she’ll be back in time for dinner.” Laurel had mastered the feline equivalent of side eye, quite a feat considering that her blue eyes tended to cross when she concentrated. “What I want to know is why she’s bundling up like some arctic explorer.”
“A what?” Harriet scrunched up her already abbreviated nose. “Oh, you mean the scarf?”
Becca had found the velvet cloche by then, on the floor behind the sofa. Its distinctive feather was missing.
“It was a fashion decision,” Laurel huffed a bit defensively. “But, no, I meant that awful puffy coat.”
“It must be getting cooler out.” Clara didn’t want to pick a fight, but she couldn’t help feeling protective. After all, her sisters rarely left the house. “And she doesn’t have lovely, thick fur like you do,” she added in an attempt to mollify her oldest sister.
“There are other ways to get warm.” Laurel rolled the last word into a suggestive purr. “And if she happens to meet someone…” Clara knew her sister was going to suggest something slinkier, but Clara didn’t linger to hear it. Becca had donned her hat and was heading out the door.
“I’m sorry, Maddy, you wouldn’t believe what happened.” Becca was walking so quickly, Clara had a hard time keeping pace. Only when she paused to call her friend back could the little calico catch up. “That was Margaret Cross on the other line. Her husband has been in some kind of an accident, I think. No, I don’t have any details. That’s why I’m on my way back there. Maddy, I have to go.” Another pause as Becca waited to cross the street. “I was just at his office, you know, that lot by the river, last night, and she wants to talk with me. She’s really upset.”
This didn’t seem to satisfy Becca’s friend any more than it did Clara. In the bright morning light, the calico deepened her shading to remain unseen. However, being virtually invisible brought its own dangers, and the little cat’s ears and whiskers were on high alert as Becca rushed heedlessly on, weaving between the churchgoers and the students out for Sunday brunch who seemed to congregate on every corner.
“No, you don’t have to.” Becca seemed to be talking her friend down from something as she race-walked into Central Square. “I’ll call you as soon as I know what’s going on. I promise.”
To Clara’s relief, the young woman shoved the phone in her pocket and actually looked around as she readied to cross Mass Ave. with its constant traffic. Down the block, Clara could see the red brick building that housed the magic shop and the Cross’s apartment, as well as the blue-and-white Cambridge police cruiser out front.
“Excuse me.” Becca began to work her way through the crowd of onlookers who blocked the store’s brightly painted window. “I’m trying to reach the apartments.”
A uniformed officer stood by the recessed entrance, blocking the building’s metal door. “Are you a resident?”
“No, but I know a woman—”
“Residents only.” He resumed his sentry position, staring over her head once more.
Becca stepped back as another couple pushed forward, either to try their luck or to pass through the crowd. Clara, who had hung back to avoid getting stepped on, saw Becca focus on Charm and Cherish. From this side, she could see the shop’s colorful glass window and the lights that signaled it was occupied, if not open for business. Those lights seemed to draw Becca, and Clara couldn’t help worrying as her person turned and began to make for the little shop’s door.
“Gaia!” Becca called, and waved,
perching on her toes to be seen above the crowd. Inside, behind the zodiac symbols, Clara could now see the black-haired shop girl talking to a man in a trench coat. “Over here!”
In the shop, the man had stepped away, and Gaia resumed her customary slump back against the wall, with its shelves of leaves and roots. Seeing an opening, Becca stepped forward, until a hand reached out to stop her.
“I wouldn’t.” Tall and lean, with black bangs that hung over a pale and serious face, he smelled vaguely familiar to Clara. Something about him must have gotten Becca’s attention, too, the calico realized, as her person peered up at him.
“Excuse me?” She pulled her arm away as she spoke.
“I’m sorry.” The flash of a grin as he ducked his head in an apology that even Harriet would understand. “I just…I think maybe it’s better to stay out of this.”
“But I know Gaia,” Becca started to explain. “I mean, not well. I’ve been helping her. It’s complicated.” Becca turned back to the shop, which now appeared to be empty. Gaia and her interrogator had either stepped into the back or left through another exit.
“I get it.” That smile again. Almost wolfish, Clara thought, especially against that dark hair. “Things with Gaia can be complicated.” If he didn’t exactly roll his eyes, he came close, before covering by brushing his hair back from his face.
“You know her? Wait, you’re the bike messenger. The one who almost ran me over yesterday.”
“I did? Gee, I’m sorry.” His light blue eyes widened, dominating his pale face. “Really. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Now it was Becca’s turn to chuckle. “I guess neither of us were paying attention.” She paused to take in the man before her. That hair, which could have come from the same dye package Gaia used, tended to distract from his prominent cheekbones and a generous mouth set in a serious line. “You’re not Tiger, are you?”
He paused, regarding her with those icy blue eyes.
“I should explain,” Becca rushed ahead. “Gaia told me she had a friend who was concerned for her.” Clara noticed her use of the word “friend.” She also saw the smile that had returned to the young man’s pale face as he turned, once more, to take in the woman in front of him.
“Yeah, I guess I had reason to worry, huh?” As the import of his own words had hit him, the last of the grin disappeared. “Man, poor Gaia.” He shook his head as they both regarded the colorful shop window. “So, I think I’m missing something.” He turned away, and his face fell into shadow. “You said you were helping her?”
Becca nodded slowly, a contemplative look coming over her. “She hired me because she was worried about—about something. But she didn’t expect this.”
“No, she didn’t.” He must have seen the sadness there, because he reached out to gently brush her arm once more, and Clara saw long fingers with nails bitten down to the quick.
“I’m Becca, by the way.” She looked down at his hand, which dropped to his side. “She didn’t say anything about hiring me?”
“She…” He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.”
“She implied that maybe you two weren’t spending as much time together.”
An embarrassed laugh as he wiped that hand over his face. “Yeah, well, you know.”
“I do.” Becca’s voice grew soft, and Clara knew she was thinking of her own on-again-off-again ex, as well as the young man she had dated a few times last spring. Laurel always had a lot to say about human romances, but Clara thought their person was only being sensible to be so careful with her heart. “I’m glad you came over when you heard about Frank.”
Becca paused, as if listening to her own words. “Did she call you?”
“No.” That half-smile again as he shook off the idea. “I wish, but I was just in the area and saw all this.” One wave took in the police, as well as the crowd.
“You must have been worried.”
A shrug. “She told me he had a bad ticker. It’s too bad, though. Poor guy. I don’t think we’re going to get to see her. Not this morning, anyway.”
Becca scanned the crowd. The storefront remained as bright and still as a museum diorama, and although the crowd was beginning to disperse, the uniformed cop standing in front of the residential entrance seemed in no hurry to follow.
“No, I guess you’re right.” Becca sighed with frustration. “Though this seems like an awful lot of fuss if he simply had a heart attack.”
“You call 9-1-1, they send out all the emergency services. Especially if the caller isn’t clear.” He shrugged, then turned toward her, brightening with inspiration. “Hey, why I don’t take your number? If I hear something, I’ll give you a ring.”
“Thanks.” Becca smiled back automatically, though she forced her face back into something more somber as she punched her digits into his phone. “I don’t know how this will effect Gaia, but if you do get to speak with her, please let her know I’m on the case.”
Chapter 11
“Tiger, huh?” Laurel was at her slinkiest, weaving herself around Becca’s legs as soon as the young woman returned home. “I always liked tigers…”
“Please.” Clara sat back, restraining her tail by wrapping it around her paws. It was bad enough that her sister read her thoughts. To have Laurel interrupt her as she filled her sisters in on the strange encounter was unnerving, to say the least. “We don’t know this man, and he may still be involved with that other girl, the client.”
“Don’t be a kitten,” her sinuous sister purred. “He was interested in our Becca. I’m picking up traces of his interest still! He touched her, didn’t he?” Before Clara could even answer, Laurel continued. “That’s how they show their interest, silly! He wants to claim her as his own.”
“Nonsense!” As Becca stepped carefully over her furry welcoming committee, they were joined by Harriet, who was having none of this. “Becca is our person,” she huffed, lifting her foreshortened nose up to sniff Becca’s hand. “If this Tiger wants a person, he can very well get his own.”
Clara couldn’t have agreed more and stepped back to give Harriet pride of place as the small party proceeded into the kitchen. She remembered all too well how sad Becca had been when her last romance had ended. And although their person had gone out a few times with a local painter—Clara had enjoyed the tangy pine smell of the turpentine he used—Becca had cooled on him recently.
“What about the man who caught her arm? The one with the good teeth?”
Clara jumped and wheeled on her sister. “Don’t do that!” Her fur bristled when she was startled.
“Yes, she met someone with a nice smile, but they didn’t even talk, really,” Clara said, as much to settle her fur as to explain. “He was just being kind. He helped her when that cyclist nearly knocked her over.”
Laurel only flicked her tail, but the message was clear. Two men, both fighting over Becca, even slightly. That got the sealpoint’s interest.
“What’s gotten into you three?” Six eyes—green, blue, and gold—looked up in surprise. “I’d swear you’d think I’d been gone for weeks.”
“Now you’ve done it.” Harriet batted at Laurel. “Bad enough you destroyed her feather. She won’t want to give us treats now!”
“Shhh…” Laurel hissed. “She doesn’t know what happened to the feather.”
Clara wisely sat that one out. In truth, the cats had already had their breakfast, before Becca left. But to Harriet’s delight, she headed once more to the kitchen, as Laurel assumed a particularly self-satisfied smirk.
“No, I couldn’t speak to Gaia either.” Becca cradled the device against her shoulder as she scooped out the savory feast. “The cops were talking to her. I wonder if Margaret said something about her and, oh, never mind. Speaking of, Maddy, I meant to tell you. I met Gaia’s ex. He’s a bike messenger named Tiger.”
She paused then as she laid down the dishes for the three felines. But, looking up from her own second supper, Clara
noted the strained expression on Becca’s face.
“You going to eat that?” Harriet’s face pushed close, distracting Clara just when she wanted to listen.
“Hush!” Clara pushed closer to her food, but kept her ears tipped.
“Yes, Maddy, a bike messenger…” Becca was leaning back against the counter, eyes back with exasperation. “No, you’ve got the wrong idea. I mean, sure, he’s cute. But what’s more important is that he might be helpful to the case. He might know who would want to hurt Gaia.”
The buzz coming from the phone sounded like a bee was trapped in there.
“They’re still friends,” Becca explained. “They talk. That’s good, right? I mean, it’s civilized. Anyway, she had told me that he was worried about her, so it was natural to start to chat with him. He’s my first lead.”
A pause so weighted that even Harriet looked up.
“I told you, I’m not interested, Maddy. And even I was, I wouldn’t be poaching. I happen to have it on good authority that Gaia was already seeing someone else. Someone she shouldn’t have been.” The three cats exchanged glances. Becca rarely used that particular tone. “Anyway, I have to go now. My coven is meeting here this afternoon. At least they believe in me!”
***
In truth, Becca had several hours before the coven’s circle—if the informal and somewhat reduced gathering could even be called that. The unsettling events of the previous spring had shaken the group, and in the wake of a summer wedding and an August break, attendance at the weekly meetings had become a bit irregular. Two of the coven, Trent and Larissa, were now such infrequent attendees that Becca hadn’t bothered to ask them about rescheduling their usual Tuesday night to a Sunday afternoon until the day before. Whether it was a fit of pique or a real conflict that caused Larissa to text back a curt excuse, Becca couldn’t tell. Maybe the wealthy older woman really was spiriting away her younger boyfriend for the weekend. The two remaining witches—women about Becca’s own age—were the ones she wanted to speak with anyway.
