by Clea Simon
“A rat?” The distinctive yowl made Clara spin around. Sure enough, two blue eyes were staring from beneath one of the chairs.
“Hush!” The calico raced over to join her sister, crowding in beneath the orange plastic seat.
“These people.” Even though Laurel’s body was nearly shaded, Clara could make out the toss of her apple-shaped head, the blue eyes closing briefly in disgust. “They’re all listening to those machines. They wouldn’t hear me if I sat up and caterwauled.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Clara knew it made more sense to humor her sister than to argue. “But, Laurel, why are you here?”
“Because of Tiger, of course.” The blue eyes were momentarily veiled as Laurel dipped her head. “I knew he would come after Becca and I wanted to see what would happen.”
“You wanted to influence her.” The words slipped out, as the truth will. “Laurel, we don’t know this man.”
“We know he likes her.” Even muted, Laurel’s voice rose in that distinctive Siamese yowl. “You heard what he just said.”
Clara didn’t respond. Instead, she turned to look out at Becca. On her knees only feet away, she was reaching for a small silver object she must have fished out from underneath the couch. As Clara watched, she stood, handing the metal tool to the orderly, and Clara couldn’t suppress a slight purr. Her person was always helping others.
“That’s why I want what’s best for her, too.” Laurel’s voice, softer now, broke into Clara’s reverie. “I know you love her. We all do. But, little sister, believe it or not, hanging out with us is not the way she should spend her life.”
“I know.” Clara sighed, her purr dying away. “If only we knew this Tiger better.”
“Well, now’s our chance.”
Clara felt a damp nudge as Laurel nosed her ear. She turned to look at the young man, who had hung back even as Becca had raced forward, his pale face unreadable. Was that rejection, Clara wondered? Or was he simply unsure how to approach the woman he had just bared his soul to? A quick sniff might answer some questions, Clara realized. But as she started toward him, another familiar voice boomed out and sent her scurrying under the nearest chair.
“Becca? Becca Colwin?” The detective had emerged from the double doors. “Oh, good, you’re still here.”
“What is it?” Becca stood and started, looking past him at those doors. “Is it Gaia?”
“A moment, please.” The detective motioned her forward with a scoop of his big hand.
Becca turned back, to take in Tiger. But he had gone deathly pale and only nodded. And with that, she turned and followed the detective back into the treatment area, with Clara close behind.
***
“What’s happened?” Even as the doors were swinging shut behind them, Becca was demanding answers. “Please tell me. Is Gaia…is she going to be okay?”
Instead of escorting her back to that fourth cubicle on the left, the detective herded Becca over toward the right, where two chairs faced an empty bed.
“Why don’t you have a seat?”
“No.” The edge to Becca’s voice made Clara’s ears tilt back, even if she understood her person’s impatience. “Not until you tell me what’s going on with Gaia.”
The big head bowed in assent. “She’s talking,” he said. “So I don’t know for sure, but I figure that means she’s going to be all right.”
“Thank the Goddess.” Becca flopped into one of the chairs and leaned her head on her hands.
“That doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods, young lady.” If anything, the large man’s tone had grown more serious.
“What do you mean?” She swallowed.
“You’ve told me about this Gaia and about Margaret Cross, and yet you failed to disclose that you saw Frank Cross shortly before his death.”
“But I didn’t.” Becca’s voice rose to a pitch reminiscent of Laurel’s.
“We’ve had a report that you were seen at his place of business.” It was a statement of fact, not a question.
“His…” Becca paused to correct herself. “Yes, that’s right. I went down to his car lot. Margaret was really upset and I was hoping to figure out what was going on. But I left without seeing him or speaking to him. I overheard him on the phone. He was in the next room. That’s all.”
The cop waited, silently.
“It sounded like he was talking to his wife, so I left.” It sounded lame. It was also the truth. “It sounded personal, so I thought I should keep out of it.”
If the man in front of her mumbled something about that being a good idea, Becca didn’t hear it. Besides, he had more to say.
“That’s not all, though, young lady. You’re working as a private investigator without a license.” One hand went up to stop her before she could protest. “Don’t argue with me on that. The laws exist for a reason, you know. And one of those reasons is that you’re not equipped to deal with an attempted murder.”
“But it wasn’t.” Becca closed her eyes. “Gaia just faked it because she wanted to get Margaret in trouble. That’s all.”
“Faked it?” Those large eyes scanned Becca’s face. “You were by her bed when she nearly crashed just now, Becca. Do you really think that was faked?”
“No.” Becca shook her head, staring at the empty bed as if the answer would be found there. “I’m sorry. The first time. She was trying to frame Margaret.”
“We know.” Abrams sounded tired. “We understand that there was bad blood between the women even before Mrs. Cross’s husband was killed.”
“But you can’t think that Margaret… She loved her husband…”
“I’m not saying anything. It’s not my place to charge anyone with a crime. We will be talking with Ms. Linquist, and we have people at her apartment looking into what may have sickened her at this moment.” The detective leaned forward, bringing his large dog-like face close to Becca’s. “Which is our job. This is serious, Ms. Colwin. People are being hurt, and you are not qualified to investigate who is doing it or why.”
“But I’m part of their community.” Clara could see that Becca was struggling to explain without seeming like a flake or, worse, a dilettante. At times like this, she wished she could rub against her person’s shins, or even jump into her lap and butt her head into Becca’s hand, knowing that whenever her person massaged the velvet base of her ears, they both felt so much better. “And I promised them.” Her voice had a dying fall that broke Clara’s heart. “I promised to help and be fair to everyone.”
“I understand.” The detective didn’t attempt any physical contact, but a certain warmth in his voice made Clara think that maybe he did comprehend some of what her person was saying. “And I’m glad of it. After all,” he said, hands on those tree-trunk thighs as he pushed himself out of the plastic chair, “that might be the only reason you’re still alive.”
Chapter 25
“That’s ridiculous!” Becca spoke with a sharpness that set Clara’s ears back. It wasn’t just her tone. While it was true that Becca was addressing a nurse who had, in fact, been ignoring her repeated requests to be let in to see Gaia. And it was also true that this nurse was now staring at her computer monitor like Becca was no longer standing right in front of her, the uniformed woman who was very clearly avoiding Becca’s fierce gaze really hadn’t earned this rather loud outburst of temper. Not from Clara’s normally very polite person.
Her ordinarily sweet young woman was at the breaking point, the calico realized, bringing her ears back up to a perky point, and she believed she understood why. When the stout police officer had first called Becca’s name, she had seemed to welcome the interruption. Tiger’s declaration, as flattering as it might be, had disconcerted Becca, Clara could tell, if in a different kind of way. As he had spoken, her cheeks had pinked up, and she had looked down and then away, unable to find the right response.
However, the respite the detective offered had proved short-lived an
d maybe, her pet realized, not altogether welcome. He had cowed her, especially when he implied that she might be at risk legally because of her attempts to set herself up as a private investigator. The suggestion that she might be in danger had thrown her, too, although after he had walked away, she had muttered something about how he was simply trying to scare her away from the case.
On top of all that, the bike messenger had disappeared by the time the detective had released her. Embarrassed, perhaps, or regretting his hasty words, which Becca had finally had a chance to absorb. Clara didn’t know how her person would respond, though she was pretty sure Laurel would want to weigh in, but she could see Becca’s increasing frustration as she scanned the room. And now she couldn’t get in to see Gaia either. Maybe it was understandable that her person had lost her cool.
Following her outburst, it did appear as if she were trying to be reasonable. “Please, can you at least tell me if she’s being admitted?”
From her tone, her pet realized, Becca was close to tears, and her tender feline heart went out to her person as she tried once more to explain why she should be given this really quite basic information. Already, she had told the nurse that she had been visiting with Gaia only minutes before. That it had been her quick action that had resulted in her friend being brought in to the ER. It did no good. Becca wasn’t authorized to receive confidential information. And so, no, she couldn’t even tell her if Gaia was being admitted or what her status was.
“I gather there’s a security issue,” the nurse said without looking up from the screen. “And I’m not going to say anymore. Do I have to call security?”
“No.” Becca admitted defeat as the other occupants of the waiting area quickly returned to their phones. It really wasn’t surprising that her person had lost her temper. And since all she had done was raise her voice, Clara didn’t think that any person, no matter how sensitive, could blame her.
“I’m not blaming her.”
Clara jumped. She had forgotten Laurel.
Shaded into near invisibility, her sister was crouched beside her, under one of the waiting area’s molded chairs. “Really, Clara, sometimes you act like you’re the only one who cares.”
Clara rounded on her sister, ready to hiss. It had been a trying day, and having her sibling read her mind was the final invasion of privacy.
“I’m trying to help, silly.” Laurel’s blue eyes, the only part of her visible, flared as she backed away. “You could tell she was thinking of Tiger.”
“She shouldn’t be.” Clara felt her ears go back. “The last thing she needs now is to be romanced by some stranger.”
“No, silly,” Laurel started to explain, but just then Becca turned and walked out into the night, and the two cats leaped to follow. Although Becca was striding swiftly, Clara caught up to her as she exited the hospital grounds. But while she wished with all her heart that her dear person would simply go home, her desires lacked the power of persuasion. Worse, Becca stood on the sidewalk, staring at the passing cars, long enough for Laurel to make her way up behind them. The Siamese might be nearly silent, but Clara was determined not to be taken by surprise again.
“What’s the matter?” Clara couldn’t resist. Even though she had no problem shimmying through the door that had swung closed in Becca’s wake, she had seen her sister struggle. “Did you find another man for Becca?”
“Hush, baby sister.” Laurel’s tail might be invisible, but Clara could see the swirls of dust as it lashed back and forth. “She’s about to—”
“Who told the police I was down at the car lot?” Becca might have been talking to herself, but her voice was clearly audible to the cats’ sensitive ears. And as she looked around the darkened parking area, Clara could feel her sister’s eyes on her. “And why did Tiger run off?”
“Enough!” Clara was ready to take on her sister, precedence or not. But before she could even raise a paw, a car pulled up.
“Becca Colwin?” As their person climbed inside, the two feline sisters exchanged a glance and jumped to follow her. Out of habit, as much as anything, Clara even waited for Laurel to go first. If she had to, she knew, she could sidle into the trunk, even as the vehicle pulled away.
She didn’t have to. Becca, it seemed, had changed her destination. “I know I said that car lot down by the river, but it’s late.” She leaned forward to explain to the driver. “I think I’ll just go home, if you don’t mind.”
“It’s your ride.” With a shrug, the driver took off, and Clara began to relax.
“This is incredible.” Laurel, meanwhile, was entranced. Now that she knew where to look, Clara could just make out her sister’s outline. Standing with her forelegs on the car door, the sealpoint was staring out at the street, her eyes wide as she watched the world go pass. “No wonder you like this.”
“I don’t go out in the world because I like it.” Clara, whose nerves were a bit frayed, wasn’t so easily mollified. “I do it because I worry about Becca.”
“Yes, but…” Laurel adjusted, as the car took a turn. “I’ve got to tell Harriet about this.”
Clara closed her eyes, regretting all the times she had wished her sisters shared her concerns. Bad enough that she had to deal with Laurel and Harriet’s interference at home. If the two of them really did start to follow her out in the world, protecting Becca was going to become exponentially more difficult.
“Maddy?”
Clara woke with a start.
Becca was speaking quietly into her phone. “Are you free tomorrow? I need your help with a kind of experiment. Call me?”
Clara looked around to see Laurel staring back, eyes wide with curiosity.
Nothing the rest of the evening made Becca’s plans any more clear. As soon as she was home, she reached for her laptop.
“Nothing new on Frank Cross.” She clicked on the keypad. “They’re still looking for that driver though.”
Within minutes, she’d gone quiet, and when Clara slipped behind her, she could see that Becca was focused on an image she had often spent time with before. Laurel had gone to sleep on her usual shelf by then, exhausted, Clara figured, by the outing. Even though she could feel her own lids growing heavy, Clara remained perched behind her person, determined to figure out what she was up to.
“I don’t understand why that thing is so fascinating to her.” Harriet landed with a thud on the sofa and began kneading her pillow by Becca’s side. “She can just as easily look at us as at those pictures.”
Clara started. Yes, it was true. The familiar engraving that Becca often consulted was more detailed than she had first noticed. The odd flatness of the computer screen had obscured its details, as did the technique of the original. To Clara, it looked like it had been scratched out with particularly dexterous claws. But as she stared, she realized that although she had been taken by the likeness of the woman in the picture to Becca, albeit with that strange headdress, and to the calico at the picture’s center, there was more to the image. Almost hidden in the crosshatching of the sitter’s background—or maybe shaded—two other cats peered out. One large and pale, the other with the distinctive round head of a Siamese.
“The wise woman came to the aid of her community,” Becca read quietly to herself. “With the aid of her familiars.” Clara looked over at Harriet, but her oldest sister was focused on her pillow, clearly ready for her evening nap, while Laurel’s faint snores let her know that their middle sister was also otherwise engaged. Even as she felt her own eyes start to close, Becca shifted again, this time reaching for her phone.
“Not that kind of detective,” was all she said. But as Clara looked on, wide awake now, her person seemed to second guess the move, and put the phone away for the night.
Chapter 26
“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Maddy had met Becca in Central Square early the next morning at her friend’s request. Sunny and clear, the weather was perfect for an outing, the sky that deep bl
ue New England only gets in autumn, setting off the gold and russet of the trees around them. None of which had made Maddy happy about accompanying her friend once Becca laid out her plans. “You do realize that this is crazy? Not to mention the fact that the cop already warned you off.”
“I shouldn’t have told you about that.” Becca led the way at a rapid clip that had Maddy, not to mention Clara, struggling to keep up. Clearly, admiring the fall foliage was not the purpose of this outing. “Besides, I’m not doing anything illegal. I’m helping my community. Looking into things.”
Maddy’s sigh might have been because of the pace, but Clara didn’t think so. “I can’t believe I’m taking personal time to do this. Speaking of, Reynolds would still take you on as a researcher.”
Becca stopped at that and waited for her friend to catch up. “Oh, Maddy, I know you mean well. But can’t you see what I’m doing now is what I was made for? I get to do research, but I can use my other skills as well.” The slight pause before “skills” didn’t go unnoticed. Maddy raised her eyebrows, but she was too good a friend to comment. “Besides,” Becca added a little shyly, “this way, I have time to research my own family.”
“Oh, Becca.” It was the sympathy, rather than the scorn, that made Becca turn and start off again, her cheeks as red as the maples along the sidewalk.
“Maddy, I’m onto something.” Becca lowered her voice, even though there was nobody around to overhear on the shady street. “The craft runs in my family, through the matrilineal line. We’ve long been wise women, serving the community.”
Maddy only shook her head.
“You’ll see,” her friend said. “But that’s not why I called you. I have a theory about who told the cops about me, but this time I want to make sure before I do anything.”
