by Clea Simon
Looking as skittish as Laurel, Becca perched on the edge of one of the hard plastic chairs like she was readying herself to leap.
“Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?” Abrams fished a pad out of his jacket as he settled, more heavily, beside her. “What brings you to the ER this evening, Ms. Colwin?”
“I told you. I’m here for Gaia—you probably know her as Gail.” Becca glanced back down the hall. “When I called for an ambulance, the EMTs said they would be taking her here.”
“And you know this Gail, how?”
“She hired me. She thought—well, it doesn’t matter now. It can’t. Not really.”
The big man leaned forward.
“It was a stupid prank. That’s all. But when I went to talk with her again, I saw something.”
The big man’s capacity for stillness was impressive, thought Clara. He’s a hunter, she realized, waiting for small prey to emerge. Waiting for…Becca?
Clara jumped to her feet, the fur along her spine rising as her back arched. Eyes wide and whiskers flared on the alert, she eyed the hallway. If she darted out, she could turn and jump. She had no hope of holding the large man, but she could create a distraction. Buy a few seconds, maybe, that would allow Becca to escape. Her ears picked up that Becca’s tone had risen and she could feel the air as she gestured. She was helpless, and only Clara could help.
Only Becca didn’t seem to realize the danger she was in. In fact, the calico realized as she readied to spring, her person was leaning toward the big man and almost touching him as she explained the day’s events.
“So that’s why I was trying to reach Gaia,” Becca was saying. Her voice, Clara realized, was raised in excitement or frustration, perhaps. Not fear. “I wanted her to come with me to talk with you. Something odd is going on, and I don’t know how it all ties together. But both Gaia and Margaret Cross were accusing each other of the most awful things, and Gaia was involved with Margaret’s husband—”
“Hold on, please.” That big hand went up like a stop sign. Even Clara had sat to listen by this point. “What exactly is your role in this?”
“I’m a witch, ah, investigator.” Clara’s ears flicked as Becca stumbled over her customary title. “Because these women are in the community, they asked if I could help them out.”
A slow nod made Clara think that the big man understood more than he was letting on.
“So both Gail and Margaret hired you?”
“Well, they both tried to. I told Margaret I couldn’t work for her because Gaia had hired me first. That was before Margaret lost her husband.”
Another nod. “And how exactly did you come to be here, at the hospital, this evening?”
“Well, I had been trying to reach Gaia. She and I were going to come talk to you about…about, well, something I saw. And a plant. It’s a long story. Honest, but when I finally reached her, she said she was feeling funny. Her mouth had gone numb, and she was slurring her words. So I called 9-1-1.” She’d glided over the part with Gaia slipping away, Clara noted. The way the big man waited made her think that he’d noticed something was missing from her story, too.
“You were coming in to speak with me?” His voice flat as a stepped-on mouse.
“Yes.” Becca paused, and Clara thought she was going to explain, then, about seeing Elizabeth—about the missing plant and Gaia bolting. Instead, she simply forged ahead. “She and I had talked about it. Her ex-boyfriend—I’d just met with him. He was worried about Gaia. He thought someone was out to get her, and I guess he was right.”
“This boyfriend have a name?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Tiger. I mean, that’s probably a nickname, but that’s what everyone calls him. Have you spoken with him? Because he thought that someone was stalking Gaia. He warned her to be careful.”
“And you’ve met this Tiger?” His voice was still soft. His eyes, dark and kind. Maybe it was the way he leaned forward or some undefinable note underlying his questions, but Clara’s fur began to rise once more.
“Yes, we had lunch and he told me that he thought that Margaret maybe, but no…” Becca shook her head, picking up on the shift in tone that was causing Clara’s unease. “I just saw her, and Tiger’s wrong, at least about Margaret and her sister. I mean, she was angry at her husband. And at Gaia, too. But she didn’t put the root in her mug. Besides, it was just asafetida, which smells awful but isn’t dangerous.”
“I’m not talking about this Margaret or any smelly root,” Detective Abrams interrupted gently, as if he were correcting a kitten. “I’m talking about you, Becca Colwin. Because before you arrived, I interviewed the victim’s friend, this so-called Tiger. And he says he hasn’t spoken to you. In fact, he says he’s never met you at all.”
Chapter 22
“That’s crazy.” Becca sat up, her eyes turning once more to the double doors at the end of the corridor. “He’s upset. Or maybe he’s pretending? He and Gaia have broken up, but our lunch was, well, I had the feeling that maybe he thought it was a kind of a date, and maybe he…”
Becca’s theory petered out under the big man’s skeptical gaze.
“Okay, then. Let’s move on to some other questions. Shall we?” The detective flipped a page in his pad. But as he did, the double doors slammed open, and a dark woman in pink scrubs came striding through.
“Is there a Becca Colwin here?” She craned her head around, and Becca stood to greet her. “Becca Colwin?”
“That’s me. Did something happen?”
“The patient has been asking for you.” The nurse beckoned, then paused, turning to the portly man at her side. “And you are?”
“Abrams.” He tilted his head, taking her in with eyes that were suddenly smaller and quite sharp. “Detective Eric Abrams.”
“Well, Detective Eric Abrams, I need Becca here to come with me. Gail has woken up.”
Becca turned to the large man. “I’m sorry, Detective. I really should go. But I will come down tomorrow and speak with you.”
“Like you were going to today?” A note of skepticism.
“Becca?” The nurse was waiting.
“Go.” The hand holding the pen rose in dismissal, while the other tucked the pad away, and Becca went.
“We’re hoping you can answer some questions for us.” As the doors buzzed, the nurse shepherded Becca through. “After you speak with Gail.”
Steeling herself against the noise and odors, Clara ducked in behind them into what looked like another hallway, with curtains sectioning off more scents and sounds than the little cat had ever encountered. Blood and other bodily fluids in excess. But also something sharp and chemical, all hard to process as a series of high-pitched beeps kept up their frantic call.
Even Becca didn’t seem immune. Her head swiveling, she took everything in, wide-eyed, even as the nurse strode ahead. She didn’t go far, though. At the fourth curtain, she stopped and short and motioned Becca, who had scurried to catch up, ahead. As Clara, unseen, pushed in beside her, she slid behind the curtain where the goth girl lay on a narrow hospital bed, her dark, damp hair pushed back from a face that was nearly as pale as the pillow she reclined on.
“Hey, Becca.” A ghost of a smile spread her bloodless lips. Her voice was so soft even Clara had to strain to hear. “I owe you. I guess Tiger was right, huh?”
“Oh, Gaia.” Becca stepped forward, but stopped herself even as she reached for the other girl’s hand. Needles and tubes extended out of her right forearm and into an IV bag suspended above. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure. I had some tea, and I started to feel funny. My lips got numb. I knew something was wrong, but, I don’t know, maybe I was too confused. Then you called…” Her eyes closed for a moment before flitting open again. “I guess just firing me wasn’t enough.”
“What?” Becca drew back.
“The tea. It came from the shop. I figure Margaret added something. Or her sister.” Her v
oice dropped even lower, more breath than sound. “Maybe I gave her the idea, huh?”
“But that’s crazy,” Becca responded in urgent tones. “I spoke with Elizabeth. She says she didn’t take the plant. She thought you got rid of it.”
The pale girl pursed her lips as she considered. “Who else could it be? Margaret hates me, and that sister of hers…” Gaia lay back, her eyes slowly closing once again. “My wolf’s bane…”
“That’s why I wanted us to go talk to the police.” Becca leaned in, dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “I know you faked that first poisoning and anyone else who knows might try to discredit you. But this proves it. Someone really is trying to hurt you.”
“Excuse me, miss.” A young man in scrubs had slid inside the curtain, his eyes on a monitor that pinged regularly. “She needs her rest. You have to go now.”
“Will she be okay?” The ping was accelerating, like an agitated cricket.
“Now.” Another set of scrubs pushed in front of her, and she looked around for the nurse who had brought her in. But that nurse had now joined the others, reaching for a metal tray.
“Miss?”
Becca started toward her and stopped. Hands on her shoulders were turning her. Propelling her past the curtain, through the steel doors, and back out to the waiting area.
Chapter 23
“Becca! Did you get in? Did you see her? They won’t tell me anything.”
Becca turned at the sound of her name. But even before she registered that the harried male voice didn’t belong to Detective Abrams, Clara had identified the newcomer. Panting and wild-eyed, the bike messenger had apparently rushed into the ER waiting area only moments before.
“Tiger!” Becca started back, mimicking Clara’s own reaction. Although the calico was still shaded, her presence a mere flicker of color and shadow in the busy, brightly lit room, her instincts had taken over. As she had started, stiff-legged, her back had arched and her fur begun to bristle from tail tip to head, to make herself appear larger in the face of an oncoming threat. “Wait.” Becca held her hand out, stopping the man in his tracks.
“What?” He looked like he might rush the door through which Becca had just emerged. “Is she—”
“They’re taking care of her.” Becca grabbed his arm, and he turned. But if Becca—or Clara at her feet—were concerned that the slim man could be violent, his next words put those fears to rest.
“Please,” he pleaded, taking her hand in his. “Tell me. You’ve seen her?”
“Yes. She’s in there.” Tiger pulled away, turning toward the window. This time it was Becca who reached for him. “They’re working on her now, Tiger. They just kicked me out.”
Maybe it was her voice, gentle with concern. Maybe her words had sunk in. Clara couldn’t tell, but she followed as the lean young man let himself be led to a quiet—well, quieter—corner of the room.
“How is she?” Tiger searched Becca’s face for answers. “Did the doctors say? Is she…will she be all right?”
“She was awake but weak.” Becca bit her lip. “But then she started to fade. I don’t know.”
With a cry, he pulled away and would have charged the closed doors. Only Becca’s hand stopped him, turning him around once more.
“So you were with her?”
“Me? No.” He looked toward the attendant’s window, the cords of his neck distended with the strain.
“But the detective said you spoke with him.” Becca frowned as she glanced around the room. “Detective Abrams. He was just here.”
“Oh, him? Yeah, well, I came by after. She was already feeling sick by then, and I, well, I just have my bike, so I went for help. I thought that’s what you meant.”
“Oh, she didn’t tell me…” Becca bit her lip, a sure sign, Clara knew, that she was holding herself back. “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment’s pause. “It’s just that the detective was questioning me. And he said that you didn’t know me.”
“Excuse me?” She had his attention now, but the pale man appeared as confused as Becca.
“The detective,” she said, speaking slowly, like one would to a child. “He said he was just talking to you, and that you didn’t know me or know anything about me.”
“That’s…no.” Tiger shook it off. “That’s not what happened.”
Becca tried again. “I was telling the detective what I’d learned, and your name came up. He said you had no idea who I was. And you were just talking with him.”
“I’m sorry.” He pushed the hair off his face, revealing his bunched brows. “This is all just so much. He was…it was all very fast.”
“I gather he heard my voice messages or saw my number on her phone…”
“Yeah, I was just so flustered. The paramedics had just taken her.” He strained to see behind him, but the door was still closed. “I had to follow, and I just got here.”
“You might be able to go in.” Becca felt for him. That much was clear. “You should go ask.”
He sighed and gave something between a nod and a shrug. “I’m just hoping….” He licked dry, chapped lips and then, perhaps distracted by the noise of the room, turned back toward Becca. “I’m sorry. You said you learned something? Something about Gaia?”
“Yeah.” Becca agreed. “Elizabeth has it out for her, all right. You know she fired Gaia, and she made her get rid of her plant. And she had those shears… But I don’t think either Elizabeth or Margaret could be behind this.”
“What are you talking about? What shears? Who else could it be?” As Tiger spoke, his voice rose, and Clara became aware of several bystanders turning to stare. “You’ve got to tell the cop that!”
Becca stepped back, one hand reaching up to her lapis pendant. “I think Elizabeth was telling me the truth. She was angry. Her sister’s devastated, but they’re not killers.”
“Yeah, of course. I’m sorry.” Tiger reached out, touching Becca’s arm with his fingertips. “I’m upset. That’s all.”
“Of course you are.” Becca didn’t draw back, not immediately, but she didn’t sound convinced either. Instead, she raised her hand to her pendant, shedding his fingers along the way.
“I just…” The pale young man craned around, as if suddenly aware that he was the center of attention. “I wish we had more information, you know? I guess I was hoping that, with you being a detective, that you could, maybe, find out more.”
“I have been speaking to people.” Becca sat back, stung. “I ask questions.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I did find out the truth about the asafetida.”
“Of course.” Tiger reached to take her hand. “I’m sorry. I mean, I guess I always thought of detectives as people who looked for physical clues.”
“I do that, too.” A bit stiff.
“No, please, I understand.” A shake of the head. “I would never expect you to put yourself at risk by sneaking into someplace or anything like that. That’s not the kind of detective you are.”
“How dare you! You’re talking like I’m some timid bookworm rather than a woman of power.” Becca pulled herself up to her full five-six. Towering to her pets, but surely not to this tall, muscular young man. And yet, he appeared to back down.
“I’m sorry.” He even stared down at the ground like a submissive kitten. “I shouldn’t push. I guess I’m worried. I feel guilty, okay? Gaia and I are through, but I still care for her, of course. Only, I think maybe she thought we could be more again. Now that…well, you know.”
“You mean, now that Frank is out of the picture.”
A half-hearted smile said it all.
“That’s kind of a quick turnaround.” Becca bit her lip against the sharpness of her rebuke, but the words were already out.
“I didn’t mean that she had no feelings for him. I know she did.” His voice had gotten quiet again. Clara was reminded of Laurel’s attempts to modulate her Siamese yowl when she was trying to get treats
from Becca. “I think turning back to me was more about comfort and familiarity. She was really shaken up by everything that happened.”
“I get it. It has been a lot.” Becca’s eyes strayed, recalling the week before. “Her boss turning against her, then Frank, and getting fired.”
“Exactly, and, well, there’s something else.” As his voice grew quieter, Tiger stepped forward and slid his hands down so that his fingertips gently cupped hers. “I know you two are friends, and I respect that.”
Becca started to speak. Clara thought she was going to argue with that definition of her relationship with the goth girl. But—maybe it was because of the way Tiger’s long fingers were gently stroking hers, maybe it was a furball—only a choking sound came out.
“And, like I said, I still care about her. As a friend. And so I wanted to be honest with her and tell her first. That’s why I went to see her today. Becca, I know this has all been very sudden, but I feel there’s something here. Something between us. Don’t you?”
Chapter 24
Becca’s eyes went as round as Harriet’s. But before she could respond in a more articulate manner, a short shriek caused her to spin around, and the ensuing clatter had everyone in the waiting area rushing over. Ducking through the crowd, Clara could see white shoes and legs clad in lime green scrubs splayed on the floor.
“Are you all right?” A large hand appeared.
“Careful.” Another set of scrubs pushed by. “What happened here? Do you feel lightheaded or dizzy?”
“What? No.” The woman on the floor, a slight thing who seemed more surprised than hurt, waved off the outstretched hand. Instead, she flipped onto her knees, the better to gather the various surgical tools that had emptied out all over the floor. Clara leaned forward to sniff at a small clamp. Disinfectant, rather than blood, she noted with relief.
“I thought I saw…never mind.” Green scrubs turned to reach for the clamp. Clara ducked back, holding her breath as the orderly, her voice lowered to be nearly inaudible, explained to her colleague, “Dale, I thought I saw something scurry by me. You know, like a rat.”
