An Incantation of Cats

by Clea Simon

  The two fell silent as they continued walking. Clara, trotting to keep up, could feel the tension between them. What she couldn’t figure out was how to ease it. Becca needed friends, the little cat felt strongly. Maddy might not agree with all of Becca’s ideas, or even the path she’d chosen to pursue professionally, but she’d been there for her friend in ways that Clara could only envy. Even before Clara and her sisters had come to live with Becca, Maddy had been an integral part of Becca’s life. Clara might not be able to define exactly why that made her more trustworthy, but it did. Maddy was more like a sister than a buddy. Or, she silently corrected herself, like one would want a sister to be—not annoying like Laurel and Harriet.

  It was a pity Maddy couldn’t believe in Becca. That seemed to be the sticking point between them, but, in truth, that made Clara trust her more. Maddy at least had the sense to know what was real. When Clara thought of that Gaia, with all her piercings and black, she knew there was a lot to be said for someone a little less fancy and a little more committed to hard work and honesty, even if she pooh-poohed the idea of magic and hurt Becca’s feelings in the process.

  Besides, she was here, helping Becca out, a fact Becca didn’t seem to fully appreciate. As the two made their way down the street, the silence was growing increasingly awkward. Clara could see Becca stealing peeks at her friend, while Maddy fumed, so intent on staring at the ground in front of her that it was a wonder she didn’t walk into a lamppost.

  “So, where are we going?” Maddy asked finally. If Becca could hear the effort Maddy was making to keep her voice even, she didn’t let on. And Clara was grateful. Not only should these two be on better terms, but the little cat was curious as well.

  “Frank Cross’s car lot.” Becca smiled as Maddy gasped and came to a sudden halt. “Please, I’ll explain.”

  Urging her friend along, Becca did just that, her voice rising with urgency and purpose. “It was what that cop told me,” she said as they turned a corner into the industrial area that Clara remembered all too well. “That they knew I’d been down there the day that he was killed. It got me thinking.”

  Now it was Becca’s turn to pause, and she met her friend’s eyes. “How did they know I was at the lot? I didn’t leave anything, and I never even spoke to Frank Cross, so it wasn’t like he could have told anyone or written down that I was there.”

  “And you think that going back there is going to tell you something?” Maddy sounded incredulous, even as the two started off again, the brick beneath them giving way to concrete.

  “I’m not sure.” Becca smiled mischievously. “But with your help, I’m going to find out.”

  ***

  By the time they got to the lot, Clara was as curious as Maddy. She may have had more faith in Becca, but she still watched her intently, following her every move as she walked slowly around the perimeter. The lot was still a moonscape, though in the morning light she could see that the pitted asphalt was punctuated by a few dying weeds. Plus, the small building at its center had taken on some color. Yellow crime scene tape circled it, crossing that front window and running over the door that Becca had entered on her earlier visit—and which now looked locked tight.

  That didn’t stop Becca, who crossed the now-empty lot to try that door. Maddy followed, watching as Becca rattled the knob. From the way her head swiveled back and forth, it was clear the larger woman wasn’t comfortable.

  “Becca, I don’t know if we should be here.” She eyed the trees they’d left behind, like she would scurry up one if she could.

  “We’re not doing anything.” Becca turned to circle the building. “This is a commercial property, so we’re not trespassing. And we’re not breaking in.”

  Maddy opened her mouth to protest, but no sound came out. Instead, she took off after Becca, who had darted over to the river side of the building. Before long, the heavier girl was panting like Harriet after a serious game of toss-the-mouse.

  “How far do you think we are from the bike path?” Becca squinted up into the morning sun.

  “A hundred yards? I don’t know.” Maddy shielded her eyes as she looked up and then out to the Charles. “Does the path even run here? I think maybe it’s down below the level of the road, over by the river.”

  Becca considered. “So not from this angle.”

  “Becca.” Maddy turned toward her friend, her round face serious. “What are you getting at?”

  “I’m trying to figure out who might have seen me, and working out where I was seen from might help.”

  Maddy shook her head in confusion.

  “The lot was nearly empty that day. Three cars, I think. I remember because I wondered if Frank was going out of business. His wife—widow—had implied that it was more of a vanity project than anything, but at the time I thought maybe she was just lashing out.” Becca was scanning the roadway and the river opposite as she spoke. “It was late in the day, around dusk, but it was really dead, and I didn’t hear any cars going by. But someone saw me. Someone must have, and then they called the police.”

  “Maybe it was someone who lives around here.” Maddy made a sweeping gesture that took in the rundown triple-deckers behind the concrete monolith at the block’s end.

  “I doubt it.” Becca crossed her arms. “What are the odds someone in one of those apartments would remember seeing someone who had simply dropped by, and even then, only for a few minutes? And I know someone who says he comes down here often for business. By bicycle.”

  “That guy Tiger.” Maddy crossed her arms, too. “Becca, I knew he sounded like trouble. He’s—”

  “No, that’s just it.” Becca was still shaking her head, trying to puzzle it out. “I mean, yeah, I think it might have been Tiger. But why? He can’t really think that I’d be involved in Frank’s murder. Can he?”

  “I don’t know, Becs.” Maddy began looking around again, as if she expected a score of strange men to suddenly appear. “But can we go now? Did you find out what you wanted?”

  “Not exactly.” She reached out to steady her friend. “Wait here.”

  “Wait, what?” By the time the question was out of Maddy’s mouth, Becca had taken off, jogging across the lot and down the street to where a shaggy brown-leafed copse of trees hid her from view. Maddy looked like she was about to take off after her, but stopped, relief flooding her face as Becca raised her hand, palm out. Thirty seconds later, Becca was back, her cheeks flushed red from the run.

  “I was right.” She sounded triumphant. “If someone was coming down Putnam, they’d have a perfect view of whoever was standing out here, wondering if she should go in.”

  “But that could have been anyone.” Maddy pointed out the obvious.

  “It was someone who identified me to the police,” said Becca. “So it was someone who knew me.”

  “So now what?” Maddy, at least, seemed amused. “Please don’t tell me that you’re just going to go talk to this guy Tiger again. Even if he didn’t do anything wrong, it still sounds creepy.”

  “No, I’m not.” Becca sounded thoughtful as she turned to take in the small concrete building before them. “I’ve done too much talking already, Maddy. In fact, I’ve spent all my time on this case talking to the participants in the hope of reaching some kind of agreement.”

  Before Maddy could respond, she continued. “In all fairness, that’s kind of worked. I mean, Gaia hasn’t admitted to stealing from the shop, but she did admit to having an affair with Margaret’s husband. And she also admitted to trying to frame Margaret by putting the root in her own tea. So I wouldn’t have thought there was anything else. Except that—”

  She stopped mid-sentence, and then shook her head. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that,” she said. And before Maddy could respond, she was walking around the small building once more.

  “Becca, what are you doing?” Maddy tagged along, following her to the compact structure’s rear, but there she stopped, standing back, ey
es wide as she scanned the empty lot. “That’s…I don’t think you should do that.”

  Clara couldn’t have agreed more. Becca didn’t seem to take any notice of her friend’s hushed protest. Maybe she hadn’t heard her, as all her attention seemed to be focused on an awning window, set high on a wall. Small as it was, it seemed to have been overlooked. At any rate, no yellow tape ran across its surface, and even from where Clara stood, it was clear that the bottom wasn’t quite flush with the wall.

  “I’m looking for clues. You know, like a proper detective.” Becca, on tiptoe, picked at the opening with her fingertips, trying to get a grip on the metal frame. “Want to lend me a hand?”

  “No, Becca. I don’t think so.” Maddy frowned. “And I really don’t think—”

  Her friend didn’t even wait for her to finish. Instead, she’d pulled over one of the metal trash cans. Gingerly balancing on top, a sneaker on either side of the rim, Becca was able to grab the bottom of the window frame and pull it toward her, opening it outward.

  “You sure?” Rather to Clara’s surprise, Becca was smiling. “You’re going to miss all the fun.”

  “Please, Becca.” Maddy took a step forward, and Clara wondered if she were about to grab her friend, much like Becca would grab Clara or one of her sisters when they were about to investigate those intriguing bubbles that sometimes appeared in Becca’s bath.

  She wasn’t fast enough. With a scraping sound, Becca slid the screen out of her way, then pulled herself up and, sneakers gaining just enough purchase against the textured concrete wall, climbed in.

  “Becca!” Maddy’s whisper sounded frantic as Becca’s feet disappeared through the opening. Clara didn’t know if Maddy’s ears were sensitive enough to pick up the thud that followed, but for a moment the calico forgot to shade herself, standing on her hind legs as she attempted to peer through the wall.

  “I’m okay!” The top of Becca’s face appeared. “I had to kind of dive to not fall into the toilet. But, Maddy, if you’re not going to join me, I need you to stand lookout.”

  Maddy sighed, closing her eyes in resignation, but then she nodded and even forced a smile. That’s when it hit Clara how well the heavy-set woman knew her friend, and how much she loved her. Maddy had been arguing with Becca all day about her quest, as well as about her new profession, but when push came to shove, she did what she could to support her.

  “I’ll be over by the corner,” she called back. “That way I can keep my eye on the street.”

  Maddy was a loyal friend. But she was still human. And as Clara watched her nervously looking around, her head moving so fast that a few strands of her neat dark hair shook loose, she pondered her own next move. She wanted to be with Becca, of course. But she knew well that cats are so much more attuned to the environment, so much more sensitive than even the most attentive human. No, she decided, weighing her desire against these factors, better to stay out here with Maddy. That way, if she heard or smelled someone approaching, she could alert her. How exactly she’d do that, she’d figure out later.

  “How odd.” Becca was speaking softly to herself. To Clara’s sensitive ears, her voice from the other side of the building’s concrete wall was as clear as a bell. Pitching her ears back to catch any other utterances, she began to patrol, leaving Maddy to make her own way around the small building.

  “Though that doesn’t mean…” Becca’s voice was suddenly interrupted by a clattering. “Oh, that is strange.”

  Her person’s exclamation, quiet as it was, along with that clanging metallic sound, proved too much for the cat. Smoothing the fur over her brows and pulling her head back into her ruff, Clara shimmied through the concrete and between pieces of rebar to find Becca hunched over an open desk drawer, a puzzled expression on her face.

  As quietly as she could, Clara leaped to the desk, where only her natural grace kept her from colliding with the odd, flat objects piled there. Three of the strange sheets were stacked beside Becca, all smelling slightly of motor oil and the dust in the room, while a fourth appeared to have fallen by their side. Clara stepped delicately around them, noting their uneven painted surfaces. There was something cold about them. Something that made Clara want to retreat to the warmth of her person, who stood there, staring down.

  Clara eyed the sheets with distrust. These could have made that horrible clatter, Clara thought as she reached out a sheathed paw to touch one cool surface. Metal, she realized, drawing back. Cold and dead. And yet, these weren’t what Becca was looking at, not anymore at least, and so the calico stepped carefully to the edge of the desktop so she could gaze down at the drawer below. Even though she had a cat’s eye view, improved by her superior vision in the shadowy room, it was hard to see what had captured Becca’s attention. The drawer that she had apparently opened was completely empty.

  As Clara watched, Becca pushed it back in an inch or two, and then released it. With a rattle, it rolled back out, almost like it was waiting to be filled.

  “Now, now, don’t get greedy.” Becca must have had the same thought, Clara realized, as her person gently closed the drawer once more and turned to examine a miniature kitchenette.

  Set next to the bathroom that had permitted Becca to enter, the kitchenette appeared to have been built into a repurposed closet. On the bottom sat a tiny refrigerator, with shelves above climbing up to the ceiling. Becca’s search was methodical, starting with that fridge. But if she expected a bottle of poison, or even an interesting herb, she was bound for disappointment. The dorm-sized appliance held only an ice cube tray, empty, and a sad lime, brown at its edges. Becca ran her hand over the top of the fridge, but it came away so dirty she went into the bathroom to rinse it off.

  Her examination of the shelves wasn’t any more fruitful. The first held a microwave, but that, like the fridge, proved to be empty, if one didn’t count a sticky film that even a human might notice. The second was also empty, and even from the desktop, Clara could see the fine layer of dust that had settled there. That left one shelf, above Clara’s sight line. While she could have leaped up with a minimum of fuss, she didn’t need to. Becca, on tiptoes and holding onto the shelf’s lip for balance, had struck gold. With an exclamation of glee—“A-ha!”—she reached back to grab a mug that had been pushed back, apparently the only dishware of any kind left in the sad kitchenette.

  “So you did sometimes take a break with—” Becca’s head snapped back just as the acrid stench reached Clara. “Whoa!” Becca blinked as she stepped back reflexively, bumping into the desk with a thud and causing the empty drawer to rattle open. Clara didn’t have to get that close to catch the reek of burned coffee and something sharper—whiskey?—mixed in. What she didn’t smell was any of that bitter root or the sad, sick odor that had clung to Gaia. She looked at her person, wondering if Becca could tell that, too, or if there was some way she could share her insight. But Becca had shaken off the burned and bitter stench and had turned to push the desk drawer back into place. It rolled easily enough with a gentle rumble. But as soon as she released it, it once again slipped open, nudging against her like a hungry kitten.

  “Oh, come on.” She pushed it in once more. Only this time, the drawer didn’t quite close. And as soon as she released it, the drawer rolled open once again.

  “Becca?” Maddy’s voice, tight with anxiety, reached her from outside. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” Kneeling now, Becca pushed the drawer shut deliberately. But this close even she could see that the metal front wasn’t flush with the desk’s frame. Something was keeping the drawer from latching.

  “If it’s nothing, maybe we should get moving.” Maddy was keeping her voice low, but the tension had her pitch rising like a young bird’s. “I did say I’d be in sometime before noon.”

  “Just a minute, Mad.” Becca tried again, opening the drawer to its full extension before pushing it closed. But no amount of force that the petite young woman could exert would make it click in
to place. Then, as Clara looked on, Becca opened the drawer once more, pulling it out as far as it would go. Watching, the little calico felt her ears twitching, taking in the distant sounds of the traffic by the river as well as the anxious fussing of Becca’s friend. The cat couldn’t tell for sure what Maddy was seeing outside, but she could hear her breath quickening, just as she caught the rising fear in the other girl’s voice. This was no time for Becca to keep trying what clearly wasn’t working.

  “If only…” Leaning on the opened drawer, Becca managed to tip the metal desk ever so slightly. As she did, she reached her arm back into the drawer. Alarmed, Clara rose from where she had been sitting. The slight tilt wasn’t enough to dislodge her, but seeing Becca strain like that was concerning. And the way her arm disappeared into the desk brought to mind a small creature being devoured, one limb at a time.

  “Hello there!” Becca even sounded like she was talking to a beast, although a friendly one, if her growing smile was any indication. “Come to Mama.” Becca leaned even further in, the motion of her fingers rattling something inside the desk.

  When she pulled her hand out, she was holding another flattened piece of metal. The back of the drawer, Clara thought. It was certainly bent and a little battered, as a broken piece would be, and although one side had been painted blue and white once, the colors were nearly scratched away. But the way Becca was eyeing it, turning it over in her hands, made her pet wonder. Standing on her hindquarters, the plump cat reached up to sniff. If only Becca would hold it a little lower…

  “Becca!” Maddy’s stage whisper was coming directly from the bathroom window, and Becca turned away from the desk.

  “Just a minute, Mads. Reynolds can wait.”

  “I think someone’s coming.” The whisper became more of a hiss.

  “Bother.” Becca looked at the piece in her hand and then, holding it at arm’s length, took several photos of it with her phone.

  “Becca!”

  A few more pictures, and then she slipped it back into the drawer, which closed this time with a satisfying click. Clara jumped noiselessly to the floor as it did and eyed the desk. It was metal, but she could shimmy through it if she tried. Only, she could already hear Becca in the bathroom. She was climbing up on the toilet tank to the window, and so the calico joined her, out on the pavement, where Maddy was shuffling anxiously.